Short Walk to Daylight Part 2
by Malakhim
Summary: AtS5 x-over BtVS7. Angel and Wes arrive in Rome to seek the help of the Scooby gang to translate some ancient texts that holds the clues to a mysterious demon.Part 2. BA. Full summary inside. Plz Read and Review! COMPLETE
1. Prologue

SUMMARY:  
  
It is the end of the world as we know it, Angel and Wes have travelled to Rome to seek the help of Giles to translate some ancient texts that seems to hold the clue to the nature of a mysterious demon, which controls minds and is able to prey on its victims' fears. Yet, the Scoobies are not too sure they trust their visitors to be telling the truth and meanwhile the demon grows in strength to bring on a possible apocalypse. Betrayal, forgotten love, trust and sacrifices takes hold of our heroes' lives.  
  
BuffyAngel, Spike friendly. Set AtS s5 AU after 'Damage', X-over with BtVS s7  
  
A/N: This is the concluding part of a two-part story (hence the 'part 2' in the title :-) and I'm afraid most of the events in this story will make little to no sense if you haven't read part one.  
  
If it seems too long (part 1) then here's a short and not at all detailed recap:  
  
Spike and Angel finds a strange book, which has been the cause of many a murder in LA. They find that it is written in Djé-vàil and Wes informs them that they must seek the help of Giles who is one of the only people who can read this demon tongue. Arriving in Italy they both begin to experience strange nightmares and soon make the link to the book and the strange demon that was released when Spike tried to burn it. Meanwhile they are hunted by a group of vampires who seem very eager to get their hands on the book, Wes arrives in Italy to help them out and they finally traces the vampires to an Italian vampire called Cerbero, who has an old score to settle with Angel. Attacking Cerbero's mansion, they destroy all his servants though he escapes. That night the three of them goes out for a drink, Spike and Angel reflect on the growing friendship between them before Spike leaves.  
  
This story is set BtVS season 7. The Potentials have all been scattered throughout Italy along with Watchers trained by Giles, though they still remain in close contact with the Scoobies who live in Rome. Buffy still occasionally patrols along with Kennedy and Xander, and since I was never a great fan of dawn, she's in England taking her graduation in Wiltshire where I have decided there's a lot of demonic activity.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. Yep, that's right. NOTHING. Zilch. Zero. Not even the poem. Everything Buffy/Angel belongs to Joss Whedon and co. I am just borrowing them for a bit of torture but promise to return them alive (in one piece was never part of the deal :-).  
  
REVIEWS: Firstly, thanks to all who reviewed part one. I love you guys for bothering with reading and commenting on my work! So thanks for all the support and encouragement! Feedback is always, always appreciated (in other words YES, YES PLEASE!). Praise pretty, flames bad, but constructive criticism is always welcomed.  
  
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PROLOGUE:  
  
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'Then scanning the o'ercrowded mass, should you  
  
Perceive one face that you loved heretofore,  
  
It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.  
  
Great Death has made all his for evermore.' C.H. Sorley.  
  
X  
  
The leaves curled and blackened at his feet and the warm night breeze stilled. The stones crumbled and the night darkened where he passed.  
  
He felt the darkness inside him, eating him from within, wringing his insides out, all rotten. All rotten. The decay of death was at his heels now; he always felt it there. Wherever he went, it would follow. Wherever he looked, it would see. Wherever he was, it would be.  
  
His limbs were growing heavier, his limp more defined as he struggled with the weight of Death upon him. Yet the song was inside him now. He could see. He could walk. He could touch. And he could slay.  
  
Warmth. He paused, searching through the blindness, the sea of white that lied about the darkness within. And the spirit was before him and he could see. It withered under his touch, screaming, dying, rotting. He drank the life from it, revelling in the darkness.  
  
He was rot. He was death. And it was joyous.  
  
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	2. Pretending

Chapter 1: Pretending  
  
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'I gazed awhile  
  
On her cold smile;  
  
Too cold – too cold for me –'  
  
'Evening Star', by Edgar Allan Poe  
  
X  
  
It was stuck in between two other houses that were practically identical with their gently sloping roofs and small windows. From the narrow, cobbled street a couple of steps led down to the wooden front door, the stairway flanked by a spiked iron-fence. In the moonlight it was hard to decide upon the colour of the house but Angel deduced that soft crème or greyish white probably was a good call.  
  
Wes stood behind him, silently indicating that he was not going to be the frontier guy. Sucking in a nervous breath through gritted teeth, Angel took down the steps and paused before the door, his closed fist poised uncertainly. Technically, he was already dead so things really couldn't get much worse. He knocked twice, something inside him praying that nobody was home or that his feeble attempt at gaining attention had gone unnoticed. But then the door slid open and the man inside stared at Angel with something halfway between disbelief and unguarded contempt.  
  
'Hi Giles,' Angel finally managed.  
  
At the sound of his voice there was a scurry of movement from within and a dark haired young man appeared beside the old watcher, his face doing a striking replication of the older man's expression.  
  
'Deadboy!' he exclaimed with mock exaltation.  
  
Angel looked back at the elder man whose narrowed eyes clearly said more than words ever could. 'Angel.'  
  
'I'm sorry -' He began uncertainly.  
  
'To bother me,' Giles concluded mordantly. His hand still rested upon the edge of the door, indicating that he had no intention whatsoever to allow the vampire entry. Angel could hardly blame him.  
  
Xander spoke again. 'Which really poses the question: why is he here?'  
  
Giles' eyes were piercing holes in his skull and Angel coolly returned the gaze. 'I need your help.'  
  
'Raise your hand if you didn't see that one coming,' Xander scoffed sardonically.  
  
'Are you still at Wolfram&Hart?' The old watcher was doing his best to keep his voice neutral.  
  
A familiar warmth rose from Angel's abdomen at this. 'What does that have to do with anything?'  
  
Xander was leaning against the wall and said with simulated interest: 'So, how's life as chief administer of All Evil Creatures Great and Small?'  
  
They did not trust him. He had not expected them to either. 'That way.'  
  
'Yeah,' Xander said. 'That way.'  
  
'Go back to LA, Angel,' Giles said, his voice flat with anger. 'We are not here at your disposal.'  
  
'I'm aware of that,' Angel replied sincerely.  
  
Xander glared at Angel. 'Anyone care to explain the part where the explanation behind that was left out?'  
  
'Mind if I cut in?' Angel was pushed aside as Wes brushed past him to face the two in the doorway. Giles expression changed to utter bewilderment. Understandably really; Wes' appearance had done a drastic u-turn since he had last seen him. 'What do you know of this?' Wes held out the book for Giles and the older watcher gingerly took it. After a quick glance his mistrustful glare travelled from Wes to Angel and back.  
  
'Where did you find this?' He asked.  
  
'Long story,' Angel just said, aware of the killing stare Xander was fixing him with.  
  
'And how many did you off anonymously during this story?'  
  
Angel did not even look at him but kept his eyes on the ex-watcher, who seemed to debate something heavily in his mind. 'Come in,' he finally said, the simple sentence seeming to cause him a lot of effort.  
  
Wes stepped into the house and Angel followed him through the door. Xander moved slightly to let them pass but Angel was aware that his eyes did not let him go, and he could feel his glare in his back, as he walked from the narrow hallway into the rectangular living room. A large, circular table took up some of the floor space surrounded by seven or so wooden chairs. Along the right wall stood an old, cosy-looking couch flanked by an old- fashioned lamp that spit a golden glow into the room, the soft gleam carving deep shadows wherever it couldn't reach. At the far end a staircase disappeared upstairs. Beneath it, the white wall was marked by nothing but a single, closed door, the kitchen, Angel assumed. Books were staggered in heaps in ever corner, almost obscuring the small television that faced the couch, and the left wall was one large bookshelf.  
  
On the table lay a couple of books sprawled open beside a newspaper that informed Angel that the twelfth murder had occurred. He heard the front door being shut behind him. Wes had taken a seat at the table, but Angel was not too comfortable with the thought of getting too close to the others, physically and mentally, and he leant against the bookshelf in the corner that ran adjacent to the door that opened onto the hallway.  
  
'I guess you are aware of the deaths?' He said as way of introduction.  
  
'No,' Xander said, slumping down at the table. 'We've just returned from Majorca, which is why we were a bit shocked to find you on our doorstep.'  
  
'We assumed that it was a demonic force,' Giles said. He too had taken a seat at the table.  
  
'It is,' Angel said.  
  
'Friend of yours?' Xander offered him an acid smile.  
  
Footsteps sounded on the staircase and Angel's blurred mind only had time to recognise her rhythm before she came jumping down the stairs, her blonde hair wobbling merrily around her head in a waterfall of golden curls.  
  
'Giles, I just realized the strangest thing -'  
  
Then she was at the bottom of the stairs and her eyes found Wes sitting calmly at the table before her gaze lifted and he looked into her eyes again. For a moment the world stopped turning and he just looked at her, drank in the sight of her face, every line, every curve.  
  
'Angel?' It was merely a whisper but since the world had suddenly gone silent and there was nothing but him and her, he caught her voice as if she had whispered into his ear.  
  
'Buffy.' Because he couldn't think of anything else to say that would say as much.  
  
'He just dropped by for a cup of coffee,' Xander sneered and broke the spell.  
  
Angel bit his lower lip in indecision as she shivered slightly and turned from him.  
  
'It's a demon,' Wes said as if they had not been interrupted. 'Sethek, I'm afraid.'  
  
'The Underworld God of Egyptian Mythology?' Giles looked up from the book, for the first time allowing a streak of emotion to sneak into his voice. Surprise.  
  
'He was released from the book when someone attempted to burn it,' Wes said as a way of explanation.  
  
'And still the fateful question of what brought you here on your undoubtedly noble quest remains unanswered,' Xander said.  
  
'It is written in Djé-vàil,' Wes was saying.  
  
'Bless you,' Xander said.  
  
Angel was looking at her, back turned to him, with a strange leaden sensation in his stomach that was far from unfamiliar but he had not experienced it in a long time.  
  
'I see,' Giles said absent-mindedly, grimacing slightly at the stench emerging from the book as he turned the pages.  
  
'Hey,' Buffy said, her voice stiff, 'still needing back-story here.'  
  
Giles' expressionless face was turned to Wes. 'And you believe that the clue to this – demon – is to be found in here?'  
  
Xander was rocking in his chair. 'Don't talk over us, people; that's rude.'  
  
Giles blinked and looked up. 'Sorry,' he said and readjusted his glasses on his nose. 'Djé-vàil is a – a demon tongue, quite ancient and...uh – very rarely mastered by humans...'  
  
'But you know it?' Buffy's back straightened a bit.  
  
'Yes, yes, in fact, I do.' Giles looked back at Wes. 'And I suppose that is why you brought it here.'  
  
'Yes,' Wes said simply.  
  
Buffy's head shifted to Wes so the side of her face was turned to Angel. He could not read her face. 'Look, who's all talkative.' She turned to him, her face cold, expressionless. 'So, what's your deal, huh? This was too big for your mighty evil organisation to take care off?'  
  
Her callous attitude was wounding him more than any of her blows ever could. 'Right,' he just said.  
  
For a long second he stared into her green-blue eyes; then she turned away, leaving him feeling strangely cold inside.  
  
'So,' she said, flinging out her arms like she used to do when she was tense or uncomfortable. 'You've faced this thing?'  
  
Wes' head shifted slightly. 'Yes. Or rather Angel and...well, twice.'  
  
Xander's eyebrows shot upward but Giles did not seem to notice.  
  
'Well, this – this thing,' Wes began. 'It has the power to invade weakened minds, as in a sleeping state and impress upon them the fears of the person -'  
  
'Like nightmares.' Xander said brusquely.  
  
'Uhm, yes, if you will,' Wes said, 'After studying the book or setting eyes on the spirit it is able to prey on your fears in the waking as well as in the sleeping state of mind.'  
  
'What does this thing look like?' Angel noticed that Buffy had not taking a seat like the others but was pacing restlessly. 'I mean, like mean-green- fighting machine at seven feet with horns?'  
  
'Er – no.' Wesley paused. 'A horse.'  
  
Xander sat up straighter. 'Once again for beginners and the hearing impaired – a horse?'  
  
Angel could no longer stand and watch. 'The head is skeletal,' he said.  
  
'Like very thin?'  
  
'Like a skull.'  
  
That got their attention.  
  
'Thus securing some originality for itself,' Xander commented.  
  
'I don't know,' Giles mumbled, taking his eyes of Angel. 'How many horse demons have you encountered?'  
  
Xander's brows contracted in thought. 'Point made.'  
  
Something occurred to Angel and as he thought about it, it became more and more implausible to him that it had not dawned on him before.  
  
'Wait,' he muttered distantly. 'The beat was strange.' He closed his eyes and drifted back to the church, envisaging every shadow-filled ridge in its skinless face as it approached, straining his memory to recapture the sound of its hooves against the stone floor. And it came to him, slowly and quiet at first before it drummed rhythmically in his head. 'Deh, deh-deh. Deh, deh-deh.' His eyes slit open. 'It only has three legs.'  
  
Even Wes had turned in his chair to stare at him.  
  
'Time out!' Buffy had turned her back on him again. 'We are talking evil, demolition-loving god-thing here, right?'  
  
'Right,' Angel confirmed.  
  
'That takes the form of a horse?'  
  
'Yes,' Wes replied.  
  
'With three legs.' She nodded shortly.  
  
'Yes,' Wes repeated.  
  
She looked at him for a moment. 'Count me perplexed.'  
  
'Yeah, and you can sign me up too.' Xander leant forward and picked an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table.  
  
'It kills people by burning them inside out,' Angel said.  
  
'As I believe was the case with your Watcher,' Wes finished.  
  
Giles head snapped up. Buffy had frozen. 'How'd you -'  
  
'Buff,' Xander cut in. He waved his arms a bit to illustrate his point. 'We're talking big, evil, all-knowing organisation.'  
  
'Right.' She crossed her arms before her chest. 'Why'd you care?'  
  
It was directed at Wes but Angel didn't care about that. 'Because it was yet another preventable fatality.'  
  
Xander gave a short, humourless chuckle. 'Oh, yeah! Like it's -'  
  
But he was cut off by the sound of the front door being slammed open. Angel's ears caught the sound of a couple of girl's voices before a familiar red head and a brown haired girl came pouring into the room.  
  
'Hi guys, we're back and...Angel!' Unlike the others, it was not hatred, contempt or any such thing that filled Willow's voice as she caught sight of him, but genuine delight. He returned the smile briefly.  
  
'Hello Willow.' Then his eyes passed her over to linger on the girl at her side and he recognised her, suddenly realizing what Spike had been referring to. And judging by her narrowing eyes and the tightening of her jaw, recognition was mutual.  
  
Willow was turning to Wes, and Angel forced himself to break eye contact with the brunette, though he could feel the heat of her eyes upon his face even as he looked away.  
  
'It's good to see you,' Willow was telling Wes, but then seemed to become aware of the strained atmosphere in the room because she raised her head and shot the others an uncertain look. '- is it good?'  
  
'Sure.' Xander nodded sarcastically. 'It's swell. We've really missed having a psychotic killer around since Spike fried.'  
  
Instinctively, Angel's eyes flew to Buffy's face just in time to see a fleeting emotion pass over it, pain and sorrow. The lead in his stomach suddenly seemed to have been accompanied by a block of ice.  
  
Giles cleared his throat. 'Yes. Um...Mr Wyndham-Price and Angel were just enlightening us about the recent murders -'  
  
'I bet,' the brown-haired girl snarled bitterly. She had not moved to take a seat but remained standing motionless in the doorway.  
  
Angel noticed how both Buffy's and Xander's face turned to her.  
  
Giles spoke again. 'Kennedy – anything to add?'  
  
The girl – Kennedy – glared at Angel but didn't answer.  
  
'We brought Emily back home,' Willow was saying. 'She's – she's in my room...'  
  
Angel watched silently from his corner as Buffy took a seat beside her friend. 'Was she -' She began and then seemed to think the better of what she was trying to say. 'It's not too bad?'  
  
'No, I think she should be okay. Given time.'  
  
'The slayer?' Wes asked.  
  
'One of them,' Xander answered insolently.  
  
The room went quiet. Buffy's fingers were doing some kind of crazed tap- dance on the table. Kennedy was still glaring daggers at Angel. He was still doing his best to ignore it.  
  
A loud slam made him jump. Wes had tossed his weathered bag onto the table, oblivious of the glares he was attracting. Pulling out a couple of files, he found the old pieces of parchment he had been searching for and handed them to Giles.  
  
'I found these in Wolfram&Hart's library. I believe they might be referring to this text.' He gestured to the book. Giles accepted the papers.  
  
'Thanks,' he said stiffly, clearly not meaning it. 'Why don't you take a seat?' But polite as ever, Angel thought.  
  
'Uh-oh,' Xander slumped further down in his chair. 'I feel a research party coming!'  
  
Buffy stood up from her chair. 'I have to patrol.'  
  
For the first time since she'd entered the room, Kennedy's eyes left Angel. 'I can do that,' she said.  
  
'No, you've had some harsh days. You and Will should go and get some sleep, talk to Emily. I promise you can get the whacking gig tomorrow if the offer still stands! Besides,' Angel followed her with his eyes as Buffy picked up her jacket from where it lay slung across the couch, thus giving her the perfect excuse to lay the greatest possible distance between them. 'I really need some fresh air.'  
  
Angel's glance shifted to Xander as he spoke. 'I could go with you – strength in numbers.' Angel was quite aware of who that comment was directed at but to ensure that no one let the meaning slip, Xander was careful to glare unflinching at him as he said it.  
  
Buffy just offered him a brief smile. 'Get some rest, Xander.'  
  
And she left. He didn't look after her but kept staring straight into the room while her footsteps quieted as she neared the door. It squeaked slightly as she pulled it open; then came the slam that seemed to echo within his passive ribcage and she was gone.  
  
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First chapter! Thanks to my faithful reviewers, AngelicDreams and nimwen, for your continuing support! Don't worry it will be BA....eventually. Please review and let me know what you think :-)  
  
Love, Khim 


	3. Longing

Author's thanks at end.  
  
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Chapter two: Longing  
  
'From childhood's hour I have not been  
  
As others were; I have not seen  
  
As others saw; I could not bring  
  
My passions from a common spring.  
  
From the same source I have not taken  
  
My sorrow; I could not awaken  
  
My heart to joy at the same tone;  
  
And all I loved, I loved alone.'  
  
- 'Alone', Edgar Allen Poe  
  
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She was walking across the empty market square, the pavestones littered by the mess left behind by the tourists of the day. From the town came a merge of sounds, loud voices, music, the noise of cars, all borne by the night wind that swept noiselessly down streets, between buildings, caressing the falling majesty of the Coliseum as it rose in all its disintegrating glory against the starlit sky.  
  
Yet, she walked with her head bowed, neither looking nor listening to the night around her. He wondered why. Angel hated following her like this, slipping in and out of shadows, never really there, never really gone. So close to touching but always only looking, waiting. There were only metres between them but it might just as well have been miles. She neither sped up nor called out, nothing to acknowledge his presence, and yet he felt certain that she was aware of him. How couldn't she be? Just the sight of her made him shiver with cold and burn inside at the same time, tingles dancing down his spine. Maybe she didn't feel it anymore, he thought, slipping into a dark, narrow alley. Maybe she didn't care anymore. She hated him being there. He knew it, had felt it; had smelt her agitation, her confusion. And yet, there was something else, there had to be something else.  
  
She could not have turned her back completely, could not have been as indifferent as she had acted.  
  
But even as his mind battled itself in ever smaller circles, a shadow of doubt clawed its way into his unspoken debate, as he remembered something Spike had said during their first day spent locked in some motel upon arriving in Italy.  
  
''And that is one of the reasons you can't stand me around, isn't it? Knowing that she is not as destroyed as you are, that her bloody life didn't shatter like yours, that she doesn't feel the pain you feel – because of me. When it really mattered you stuck your bloody tail between your legs and jumped ship. When she really needed you, you were too bothered about perfecting your Tortured Hero act to fret about her. But I wasn't.''  
  
He had snarled some spiteful reply and clocked the white-blonde vampire in the face, but the truth was he feared that Spike was right. And even more so upon seeing her again and feeling the same burning desire to hold her, to walk with her, to slide a finger down her cheek, while she had given him nothing but an icy shoulder and a fleeting, indifferent glance.  
  
From the shadows cast by the peach-coloured building, he glanced across the square that lay bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight spilling from the cloudless skies above. It was empty.  
  
He blinked. Somehow she had managed to slip away and he hadn't even noticed. That wasn't planned. Taking two tentative steps forward, he felt the faint light glide across his pale skin as he left the shadows of the building behind.  
  
Immediately something struck him with such force across the side of the face, he felt himself stumble and crash against a wall that seemed to have sprung out of the ground from nowhere. Before fully regaining his balance, he spun on his feet, the rush of the brawl causing the familiar stretching sensation to pull at his face as he morphed.  
  
Yet the sight of Buffy standing tensely before him, stake raised and legs slightly spread in a fighting stance sent a strange chill rocking through his body and he struggled to return to his human visage. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her mouth was nought more than thin line; she was strangely pale. He wondered if she had intended to stake him.  
  
'Buffy -' He began uncertainly.  
  
'Stop following me!' There was an edge to her voice, which it struck him she trying to hide; as if it was about to break while she fought to keep it steady.  
  
'I'm sorry...' He was not sorry about stalking her tonight but he knew that was not truly what she was referring to either. But he was sorry that he could not let her be because it hurt so much to see her again.  
  
'You shouldn't have come back.' Her words chimed familiar in his ears and he realized with a shiver they echoed the dream he had had back in LA. It seemed a lifetime ago now, and yet it was hardly more than ten days time. It calmed him slightly to see she had placed the stake back in her belt and was eying him strangely, her arms crossed defensively before her chest.  
  
There was some conflict brewing within her, he could sense it, though he could not read exactly what feelings were haunting her. It infuriated him.  
  
'I'm sorry – sorry to bother you.' It was difficult to look her in the eye.  
  
She didn't answer but merely arched a single eyebrow at him and that simple gesture hurt him more than he had thought possible.  
  
Since she did not look like she had any intention of speaking, he went on. 'I worried about you...'  
  
'Well, newsflash: no need. I'm not a squeamish little teenage girl anymore and I don't need you dogging my heels. Not anymore. The times I did, you weren't there anyway, but that taught me to fight on my own, so hey, why bother?' Her voice struck him like a white-hot dagger; getting staked in the heart could not possibly hurt as much as this.  
  
'The demon has reached town,' he tried, ignoring the spitefulness, and painful accuracy, of her previous comment. 'I didn't want you to get hurt...'  
  
She cocked her head at him and the corners of her mouth curved upwards, yet her expression could not have been further from a smile.  
  
'That's real cute if it wasn't cos the 'even-though-she-gave-me-the-brush- off,-I-will-follow-her-around-for-her-own-safety' thing didn't tick the box labelled 'stalking'.' She rolled her eyes. 'God, why am I even talking to you?' And she had turned on her heel and was walking away from him. Again.  
  
It took him the better part of a second to find his voice.  
  
'Buffy!'  
  
And he realised his arm had shot out to grab her shoulder. Thinking the better of it he slowly curled his fingers to a fist and pulled his hand back to rest at his side. She paused and he saw her shoulders tense but she did not turn around. Neither did she run away.  
  
'I didn't mean to crash into your life like this...'  
  
Her blonde locks rained down over her right shoulder as she cocked her head. 'I'm sure you didn't,' she said acidly, spinning around to face him and he saw the pain and frustration in her eyes, smelt her anger. 'Because some of us actually have a life.'  
  
Her words stung and he lowered his eyes, looking at the pavestones at his feet without truly seeing. She spoke again and he felt his gaze being pulled upward by the sound of her voice.  
  
'So – what's the what? Apocalypse coming up and you thought of something you couldn't tell me on the phone, because, hey, why bother calling, staying in touch or even acknowledging my existence.'  
  
'You haven't been too eager yourself.'  
  
'No. Great surprise this: I've been busy staying alive and when I got done with that part, I had to rebuild not only my own life but everybody else's. That's hard work! Guess you know the drill, being head of Wolfram&Hart -' And the name was mentioned. He felt strangely empty within and at the same time as though he was being dragged downwards. Perhaps this was how it felt having an empty leaden case in ones stomach. '- but maybe trust and loyalty aren't exactly the selling points of an evil, powerful law firm?'  
  
She didn't trust him. It was funny how many times in one night that could occur to him, though not as funny as how much it hurt every time. He wanted to punch something.  
  
'Why are you afraid of me?'  
  
This time her lips slipped so far back he could see her teeth as she grinned at him. 'Pur-lease, get over yourself!'  
  
'Then what's wrong?'  
  
This made her angry; he knew it would. Her arms lashed around her sides as she stepped nearer to him, her neck arching slightly towards him as it had so often done when she was angry or so sad that she was furious. It saddened him he no longer knew which.  
  
'Oh, so it's me there's something wrong with?! You are just such a self- righteous -' she searched for the right word. 'You can't just bash into my life and expect all hell's angels to find their golden harps and start chiming! People move on! I don't need you anymore, so stop kidding yourself!'  
  
He would have preferred her to hit him. It would not have hurt as much.  
  
'Buffy, please...'  
  
She turned away, her head slightly bowed; her right hand moved to the side of her face to tuck strands of unruly blonde hair behind her ear but paused beside her eye, as if she was shielding her face from the sun. Or from him.  
  
When she spoke there was a softer note to her voice, but also a sadder, more desperate, as if she was pleading.  
  
'Just go, Angel. Please go.'  
  
And he did. Even though his heart was screaming so loudly at him that he could hardly hear what his head was telling his legs to do, he turned and slowly walked away, never looking back.  
  
So he did not see how her hands cupped her face and her shoulders shook as she stood alone in the middle of the square, the silver gleam of the moon playing in strands of golden hair, crying.  
  
He strode along the dark alleys and the brighter lit streets, hearing nothing but the rapid, rhythmic drum of his own boots against the ground and the whirling noise in his ears. He had somehow thought that if he could just see her, talk to her, touch her again, everything would have been all right. She would have understood.  
  
He kicked a dustbin in rage and it scuttled across the tarmac.  
  
Who was he kidding? Well, apart from himself, that was; that part of him that still clung to the belief, the hopeless illusion that if she was there, it could not be that bad. It would work out in the end.  
  
Hell, he was just a fool.  
  
He stopped in his brisk flight, resting his forehead against the nearest wall, the cool stone not dulling the fire of rage and frustration that still blazed within him. Closing his eyes, he took some deep, much-needed breaths to calm his jumbled thoughts. She had moved on. Wasn't that what he had wanted? Wasn't that why he left her all those years ago?  
  
Then why did it hurt so much? Why did he want nothing more than to just hold her again, talk to her, see her smile? Hear her say his name. A soft moan was building at the back of his throat as the images sped through his confused mind and his fist shot out, hammering into the wall before him, the stone crumbling satisfyingly under his now bleeding and scratched hand. He curled his hand into a fist, treasuring the sensation of the fractures of stone digging into his flesh.  
  
And yet the pain could not distract him from the hurt he felt within.  
  
X  
  
The heat of rage she had felt only a moment before had vanished and all she felt was cold, empty and very alone. Her head was spinning and her thoughts slurred with the sight of him, her mind buzzing with his voice and her hateful reply.  
  
She looked back over her shoulder. The square was dark and very Angel-less. After all, she had told him to leave her alone. Funny, she thought, how he actually sometimes does what I ask of him; and yet it did not feel funny at all. Her stomach was squirming painfully and something was growing uncomfortably in her throat.  
  
She took a hesitant step forward but when her leg still supported her body she slowly began to walk away. She would have to take a detour around the nearby graveyard before heading home.  
  
And when she really wanted a distraction, the entire demonic population of Rome were taking the night off.  
  
She fiddled her stake restlessly.  
  
Somehow she had expected that if he showed up it would not be so hard. Everybody said that if you loved something and lost it, then your mind would take on a personal promotional campaign to make the past greater and more beautiful than the truth would have. Nostalgia or something like that.  
  
So she had expected to look at him and go something like 'is that all?' or maybe 'what's the big deal?'. And instead her mind had gone blank – like wiped, completely bare and her throat had felt as if she had been dying of thirst for a couple of weeks. Her heart had stilled for a second before all blood had rushed to her head followed by the rhythmic drum thundering quicker than before. It was entirely possible that for a second her face had caught a striking resemblance to a giant tomato.  
  
And because she always responded to stress, shock and fear by lashing out in anger, she had ignored him, raged at him because her confused mind had refused to come up with any other plans of action. All whilst her stomach was tightening inward in her disgust at herself, her anger at him was soon replaced by the mindless fury that burned within at her own stupidity – her desperation to feel again.  
  
And now she had done it again. Trust Buffy to be tactful and suave; she had shouted at him, pushed him away, while in her mind she was heavily debating whether she wanted to touch him or hit him. Her heart was in no doubt but her head refused to cooperate, her indecision doing nothing to dull her temper.  
  
It had been so long. So long time had passed, so many things had changed, and still she looked into his eyes and forgot everything but Angel and Buffy. Forgot everything but her burning desire to touch him again, take his hand again, be comforted by him again. It was almost as if all the terrible things that had happened after he left hadn't existed at all.  
  
So she had shouted at him, been cold and pretending not to care. Pretending.  
  
She kicked a can and it clattered away.  
  
God, she was so tired of pretending.  
  
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When he returned to their hotel just before dawn, Angel had retreated into that protective, brooding silence that had hung over his head like a shadow the first time Wes had met him. Wes had not asked what had caused it because he already knew. That was the thing that usually happened when the vampire's thoughts began to involve a certain blonde slayer.  
  
Wes had left the Scoobies' household shortly after midnight to get some sleep to return again this morning after he and Giles both agreed that they could do nothing useful if they were both too sleep-deprived to recognise an 'a' from a 't'.  
  
Not that he was too eager himself, mind. He had a distinct feeling that they still looked upon him as the good-for-nothing wimp they had known five years ago. Fortunately, he didn't look the part anymore. He was far from clean-shaven and the faultless suit had been replaced by a grubbier brown jacket slung carelessly over a black shirt. His hair was no longer combed neatly back and he no longer tripped every time he encountered something resembling a staircase. He smiled softly for himself as he turned down the street leading to Giles' hideout, which was in short walking distance from the hotel. Apparently, getting your throat slit was good for something.  
  
As he walked he tensed his right arm slightly and felt the stake slit out from its protective den under his sleeve. He pushed it back in for only to release it once more.  
  
Only for the sake of it. What was it Spike had called him? He chuckled. 'Mr  
  
Gadget'. Truth was he liked being properly equipped; it gave a sense of security and control, something he was not willing to let slip again since it had ended badly every time that had happened. Thus the reason for having two guns in his belt.  
  
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x  
  
Dusk was in the air. Xander put his head back to stare at the grey sky above him. They would probably have rain later tonight. Who did that surprise; the night he had the patrolling gig. True, Kennedy was out too, but that would not make him any less wet when the weather gods decided to open the taps.  
  
Voices down an alley to his left suddenly caught his attention and he paused; hiding in the shadows cast by the building he inched closer.  
  
'We can't take him on. Cerbero knows that brutal violence ain't gonna do the trick. Shame, but he wants the book as well and he doesn't know where they took it.'  
  
It was definitely vampires, Xander deduced from the slight lisp in  
their speech. They were probably waiting for the sun to set.  
  
'So what?' A second voice said. 'We tail him?'  
  
'Yeah,' the first one said, 'we did and he dusted our guys last night.'  
  
'Hardcore.'  
  
'Totally. But Cerbero has this plan: couple o' years back, Angelus went all smoochy with the Slayer.'  
  
Xander cursed under his breath. Of course it was Angel they were after and now the fucking corpse had gone and landed Buffy in danger all over again.  
  
'So we take her as blackmail?'  
  
'In a nutshell.'  
  
And Xander made a decision. He didn't care what the others thought of it because they were not here to disagree. He cleared his throat and stepped out of the shadows; the two vampires spun on their feet to face him and two stupid grins spread across their ugly faces at the same time.  
  
'Hey, an eavesdropper!' The shortest of the pair announced gleefully.  
  
He held up a cross and they recoiled. 'OK, it just so happens that the Slayer's my friend and I cannot let her get hurt.'  
  
Vamp One, the tallest, looked at him. 'And it just so happens I couldn't care less.'  
  
'No,' Xander said, 'but your leader might – watsisface - Cerbero.'  
  
The vampire's yellow eyes narrowed. 'What's this?' he snarled.  
  
'A proposition,' Xander said.  
  
'For what?'  
  
'For your leader.'  
  
The vampire huffed. 'I got that. How can I know this isn't some petty trick?'  
  
'Honestly,' Xander said, 'would I hang around you guys if it wasn't for real?'  
  
The two vampires exchanged a look and it looked to Xander as though they agreed with that.  
  
'Take me to Cerbero.'  
  
X  
  
To someone who had seen the Master far too close for it to be healthy, Cerbero was really not that fear-inducing, Xander thought. Without his vampire visage the demon looked like a man in his early thirties, clad nicely in denim jeans and a black shirt and blending perfectly with the posh surroundings of the hotel room.  
  
'Who are you?' was the first thing he said upon setting eyes on Xander.  
  
'Does it matter if I can give you Angel?'  
  
The vampire gave him a strange look from his place in the armchair. 'What?'  
  
'I give you Angel and you won't touch the Slayer,' Xander said, doing his best to come across as tough and unsympathetic.  
  
'A trick?'  
  
'It could be,' Xander admitted, 'but since I can't kill you and have no personal desire to do so, I can't see why you shouldn't trust me. The Slayer's my friend and I will not see her hurt, least of all because of Angel. Hell knows he's hurt her enough for two lifetimes.'  
  
'I see,' the vampire hissed quietly.  
  
'We will come alone. I bring you Angel and walk away. You leave the Slayer be.'  
  
Cerbero raised his head and offered Xander a snakelike smile. 'Deal.'  
  
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A/N: Thanks so much to my reviewers, CF, Tariq, nimwen, AngelicDreams and Gwenyver. I really, really appreciate the support :-) 


	4. Betraying

Chapter 3: Betraying  
  
"This was the unkindest cut of all."  
  
Shakespeare, 'Julius Caesar'  
  
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Seventeen. That was the number on the door. Xander stared at his own reflection in the golden figures, the only marking on the plain white door before him. He wondered what Buffy would say if she ever found out. Shuddering, he issued a quick prayer that she would never know and struck the door twice. Immediately Angel's voice rose from within.  
  
'Momento!'  
  
The doors white surface disappeared inward as the vampire pulled it open. He was clad in a white shirt that hung surprisingly loose and a pair of black jeans; looking at his pale face Xander noticed how gaunt his skin looked but the dark eyes met his gaze challengingly.  
  
'Can I help you?' The voice was cold but politely neutral.  
  
'I think I've gotta lead.'  
  
The vampire before him did not answer. Xander had not noticed last night, with the time and darkness of the room and all, but Angel had definitely lost weight since he had last set eyes upon the creature. Maybe the post at the law firm was taking its toll.  
  
'And Buffy's out patrolling,' he said, having no clue what Buffy was doing. 'Willow, Kennedy, Giles and your goofy Watcher are researching so I thought we could check it out.'  
  
Angel didn't even blink.  
  
'Have you called her?' Clearly he did not want to go with Xander unless he absolutely couldn't help it. Well, the feeling was mutual.  
  
'Buffy left her mobile behind. She doesn't like too much interruption when she's working.'  
  
Angel's jaw tensed and Xander smiled inwardly. It was incredible how easy it was to piss this guy off when it came to Buffy.  
  
'So we're off...' Angel disappeared momentarily into the room before reappearing with the black duster over his shoulders. Xander was about to point out how hot it was outside but decided against it, opting instead for falling into track behind the vampire as he led the way down the corridor.  
  
X  
  
The old warehouse was stacked in at the back of a winding street that ran among a row of slanting buildings, which could all have benefited from a good patch-up. It was dark; the absence of lampposts and any light from within the houses resulted in the sparse light cast by the lead-grey night sky was the only source of illumination.  
  
Angel slipped noiselessly from shadow to shadow, mending effortlessly with the darkness while Xander struggled to keep up without tripping over the garbage and rubbish bins that littered the street. The warehouse looked crammed in the small area as if it had been pushed tightly to fit in. The smashed windows reflected the faint night-time glow; the roof was near horizontal and dark patches stood out like black, boundless lakes where the building materials had been worn away.  
  
'Creepy abandoned building? Check.' He glanced at Angel's dark figure which had paused before the iron fencing that ran the perimeter of the land. 'Jeez, don't these guys just scream 'predictable'.'  
  
He had not expected an answer and didn't get one. Angel looked the gate up and down, his glance setting on the lock. His arm shot out with incredible speed, the fingers closing around the padlock and it slid off with a loud snap as he jerked it backwards. It had probably been very rusty, Xander thought.  
  
Angel was carefully sliding one of the gates open and Xander followed in silence as he slipped inside.  
  
The door to the deteriorating building squeaked shrilly as Angel pushed it open. The vampire paused in the doorway and Xander peered over his shoulder. The far end of the candle-lit room disappeared in the murky shadows and the floor was scattered with various objects; wooden and cardboard boxes, scraps of metal, planks of wood, and among the rubbish, concrete pillars rose towards the ceiling, supporting the strips of latticed metal floor that ran above their heads.  
  
As Angel stepped cautiously over the threshold, Xander wondered whether he had smelt the trap.  
  
'You sure this is the place?' the vampire whispered without turning his head.  
  
Xander stepped into the faintly lit room. The dancing flames from the multiple candles arranged along the floor gave it a sinister look, dark shadows swaying, dancing along the walls and the floor.  
  
'Dead sure.'  
  
A strange, hissing sound reached Xander's ears. Before him, Angel groaned in pain and doubled over. In the silence of the vast, open space the snap echoed between the walls like a gunshot. Angel straightened and spun around, in vampire face now, and in his hand he held the broken off shaft of a wooden arrow. Xander felt his gaze involuntarily travel to the dark blot at the stomach of the vampire's white shirt.  
  
'Xander go!' Angel roared, before swiftly spinning on his feet to face the three vampires that jumped at him from above. Xander took a couple of steps backward until his back was leaning against the wall, watching. As little as he wanted to admit it, Angel was a damn good fighter.  
  
He was dodging the blows that rained down over him and had dusted a vampire using the end of the arrow he still clung to before it had time to register what was going on. Grabbing one of the two remaining, he hurled it forcefully across the room and it slammed violently against one of the pillars, stones and white dust raining down over it.  
  
Xander's foot connected with a board of wood on the floor and after a quick glance at the brawl he picked it up. He couldn't let Angel win, he realized with a sinking feeling. Sad, but he had reached the point of no return.  
  
After receiving a punch to his temple, Angel knocked the third vampire to the floor and he was turning to the door as Xander slammed the wooden plank into his distorted face with as much brutal force as he could gather. The wood splintered at the impact and Angel was sent sprawling against the floor.  
  
'I've wanted to do that for six years,' Xander told the vampire, whose blank face suddenly paled in realization, his feral eyes widening.  
  
'No!' He whispered, shaking his head as if to deny what was happening; his attempts at getting back on his feet was thwarted by the seven vampires that had come running from the shadows to hurl themselves at him. Uncertainty slowing his steps, Xander hesitantly backed off as Angel's struggling form disappeared in a merge of flailing clothing, kicking legs and lashing arms. Lying down the vampire was incapable of defending himself despite his valiant efforts.  
  
'Xander, no!' His voice rose, shrill and desperate. Xander was quite sure he had never heard him like that before. 'They'll kill her!'  
  
And all sympathy he had been in danger of feeling for him a second earlier evaporated at the mentioning of Buffy. Xander lowered the piece of wood and stared as a fiercely struggling Angel was pushed onto his stomach, still in vamp face, his wrists tied behind his back and gagged.  
  
He slipped out of the door, forcing his head to turn away just as one of the vamps swung an iron rod towards Angel's head and the sound of struggling died.  
  
X  
  
Xander stepped into Giles' personal study, closing the door to the hallway after him. The room was brimming with activity though none of them looked up as he approached. Willow and Giles were pouring over the same book, conversing in hushed voices, the other Watcher – Wesley – was sitting secluded from the others, his head snapping from a sprawling, musty-looking old book to the notebook on his right. Kennedy was walking along the bookshelves, leaving a trail of books littering the floor after her.  
  
'How's the snoring party coming on?' He snatched a biscuit from the plate on the table.  
  
'No,' Willow said pensively. 'That's not it. He doesn't have horns...and, well, he's not green with purple dots.'  
  
Giles pushed his glasses further up his nose. 'Um...uh, yes. I see.'  
  
Xander slumped down in the couch. 'It's good to see ya too, you know.'  
  
The outer doors slammed shut and he looked around at the sound to see Buffy walking into the room. 'Buffster! How'd the spanking go?'  
  
She looked him, blinking. 'What? Oh, yes, it – it was good.'  
  
Xander raised his eyebrows but she didn't notice since she had turned to the others. 'Listen; have any of you guys seen Angel?'  
  
The two ex-Watchers both raised their heads.  
  
'He's not here,' Giles announced helpfully. 'And, um, you didn't see him on patrol?'  
  
'Was he still in his room?' Wesley actually sounded slightly uneasy.  
  
'Double bill of no. I checked it out.'  
  
Xander couldn't understand why she would be so worried. It was not as if she had acted all over the moon to see Deadboy again.  
  
'He's a big boy,' he said. 'Devil's advocate and all. He can look after himself.'  
  
'UH!'  
  
Everybody's heads snapped round to Kennedy. 'What?'  
  
She looked up from the book she was holding. 'No, sorry, it was nothing.'  
  
Buffy looked back at Giles. 'I don't like it. I'm going out looking for him.'  
  
Willow looked up. 'You're back on track? I mean like – together?'  
  
Giles looked up too but his expression was far from similar to the red- head's.  
  
Buffy shot her friend a look Xander roughly translated as 'you know better than to say stuff like that'. 'No,' she said aloud. 'But him being gone and all...it just feels wrong.'  
  
'Sorry to interfere,' Xander said. 'But oughtn't we to concentrate on the rather more important matter at hand than 'lost Angel'?'  
  
Giles nodded solemnly. 'Quite right.'  
  
'And still,' Wesley slammed his book shut and stood up, 'it's two hours after sunset and he hasn't shown.' He shot Buffy an impassive look. 'Have you tried calling his phone?'  
  
'Please!' Her tone effectively said what she did not.  
  
Wesley did not show it if he felt affronted. 'And?'  
  
'Not answering.'  
  
'No, I expected as much,' he muttered glumly.  
  
'And still we're discussing Angel rather than the impending doomsday!' Xander couldn't understand Buffy. She had appeared furious. As far as he could tell, she had treated Angel as callously as he had always longed to see her do.  
  
And now she was all for a major rescue operation for said loathed vampire.  
  
'They are probably related,' Wes said.  
  
'They are not.' The words had escaped him before he had any chance of stopping them. They all looked at him and he grinned sheepishly. 'I mean, you don't know that.'  
  
'Maybe...' Wes trailed off. Buffy shot him a look.  
  
'What?'  
  
'Cerbero got away when we attacked his mansion. I think it is safe to say he is not exactly Angel's biggest fan -'  
  
'Can you blame him?' Xander muttered under his breath though he was pretty confident nobody heard him.  
  
'- and he will do anything to get his hands on the book.' Wes gestured to the innocent looking object on the table. 'It is possible that they may have attacked him.'  
  
Buffy paled. 'They're gonna kill him.'  
  
Xander stared at the show unfold from his position on the couch. 'Please fill me in on that one: that is bad because...?'  
  
Buffy felt winded as if she had jumped into a swimming pool from a high point and landed on her stomach. She could not believe she had not seen this coming. She slowly turned to the young man on the couch.  
  
'You turned him in.' And through the hazy mist and the buzzing in her head she marvelled at how steady her voice was.  
  
Xander frowned at her and before she could realize what she was doing, she had taken a threatening step nearer to the sofa. Willow shrieked from behind her.  
  
'Buffy!'  
  
A pair of strong hands grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her away and she fought hard not to lash out at Wesley for touching her.  
  
'Did it feel good, huh?' She was aware that Giles was fixing her with a shocked stare but she didn't care.  
  
Xander stood up. 'Yes,' he said, boldly meeting her glare. 'It did feel good. And if you wanna know, I even think I did the right thing.'  
  
She had experienced betrayal before. It was not uncommon when you fought for your life every, single day and often had to rely upon rather untrustworthy allies. But this was different. This was Xander.  
  
'Course you do,' she snarled at him. 'Hero.'  
  
'Hear me out on this one.' Xander looked so honest that she closed her mouth again. 'They were gonna go for you and use you as a way to get to him. I would not let that happen.'  
  
Buffy didn't even realise that Wesley's grip on her arm tightened to the verge of being painful. It was strange how furious, how personally betrayed she could feel, when all Xander had really done was trying to protect her. But this was Angel.  
  
She had been incapable of pushing him out of her thoughts and all day long he had whispered in her mind until she knew that it would drive her crazy if she did not try to talk to him again. Ask him why he had done it, what had happened to him to make him choose that road.  
  
And now it looked as though she was never going to get the chance. That he would be ripped away from her again.  
  
Her voice shook with contained fury as she spoke. 'So you gave them Angel's head on a silver dish with a little note of best wishes for enjoyment and happiness?'  
  
Xander didn't break eye contact. 'Roughly.'  
  
'How could you?'  
  
'Seeing that he not only tried to kill me but also my friends and my then- girlfriend the 'how' bit wasn't exactly the limiting factor,' Xander answered bluntly. 'And since they only cared for getting their hands on Angel but would see nothing wrong in using you as bait, I did as I saw fit.' His voice rose to a near-shout. 'And I'm sorry if you feel stabbed in the back, but this isn't about you. It just so happens that you mean more to me than a homicidal vampire; I can't help it, that's just the way I am.'  
  
Buffy was pretty sure she had never wanted to hit him as much as she did in that moment, though she probably had. Not only had he betrayed someone who was supposed to be on their side and thus placed them all in jeopardy, the 'someone' was Angel and he was even trying to justify himself.  
  
Still, a snippet of hope slipped into her thoughts. 'Where did you take him? Maybe we can still stop them!'  
  
Behind her Giles cleared his throat. 'A-are you sure this is wise? I mean -'  
  
'I don't care what you mean.' And she didn't. It was painful that every time Angel entered her life, he always seemed to have some extraordinary talent for splitting her friends but that was just a shame. Because she didn't care.  
  
'There is an abandoned warehouse on the Eastern outskirts.' Xander was looking at her with his head slightly tilted. 'But I don't know where they took him. That was just the meeting place.'  
  
Buffy shrug off Wesley's arm and turned her back to Xander. 'I'm going after him,' she announced.  
  
'I'll come with you,' Wes said.  
  
She glared at him. That declaration was unexpected but not necessarily pleasant.  
  
'No. I really think I can handle a couple of vamps on my own,' she told him before adding in a voice that was strikingly snide: 'I have been doing this a long time, you know.'  
  
'You'll need help,' he said, completely oblivious to her outburst.  
  
She stared at him, doubting whether to be offended or not. 'Not yours.'  
  
He gave her a cold smile that did not reach his eyes. 'I'll drive.'  
  
Honestly, what did she have to do to make the wimp get her point? 'Which part of 'I'm going alone' don't you understand?'  
  
She grabbed his arm as he walked past her but snapped her hand back as if she had been burned as a wooden stake whizzed out from his sleeve. She blinked at him in confusion. He smiled that strange humourless smile again, which made her want to hit him, by the way, and the weapon disappeared back up his sleeve.  
  
'The ignorant part,' he said, opening the door to the hallway and looking back at her. 'Are we going?'  
  
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A/N: Thanks so much to my reviewers: legolasgal, nimwen, DDuck (thanks for the feedback. You will find I struggle more in this area since I'm kinda in denial of the whole 'moving on' business. I'm still a teenager so need someone to pin my ludicrous teenage fantasies on and, too bad for B/A, they were the couple I landed on :-), a2zmom (don't worry. Making Xander the villain would at this point seem like a bit of an obvious route, and 'obvious' is just too damn boring!), Tariq and AngelicDreams.  
  
A/N 2: I'm afraid some of the content in the next chapter warrants an 'R' rating, but I'm reluctant to move the story, so please don't be offended :- ) 


	5. To Cease Feeling

Summary:  
  
Angel and Wesley have arrived and presented the Scooby gang with the book. Buffy and Angel are 'not talking' and the latter has just been betrayed by Xander. When Buffy finds out she sets out to rescue Angel along with Wes.  
  
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Chapter 4: To Cease Feeling  
  
Warning: This chapter contains violence  
  
Author's thanks at end.  
  
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"In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his disabled left arm."  
  
George Orwell, 1984  
  
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- x-x-x  
  
The door hang loosely on its hinges, the golden figure of 'seven' hanging upside down and where the lock had been the door-frame's wooden structure had splintered and fractured inward. Buffy gave it a gentle push and it squealed in protest as it scraped along the floor.  
  
The warehouse had been deserted and there was no way in which they could depend upon that site for information as to Angel's whereabouts. But that he had been there was unambiguous: in one corner she had found his old duster, shredded and torn. Though she knew he would never wear it again, she had still brought it with her back to the car, and the ride to the hotel had been undertaken in unbroken silence.  
  
As her glance swept through the maltreated hotel room she felt the lump in her throat expand and she grew strangely cold. She could feel his essence there like a familiar, rising warmth in her midriff, almost smell he had been there. And this only made it so much worse to look at.  
  
The sheets on the bed and the mattress had been slashed to shreds, a variety of Angel's shirts littered the floor, all unnecessarily shredded, a table was lying upside down with one of the legs broken off, lamps lay broken and shattered upon the floor and the doors of a large cupboard along the right wall had been wrought open and the wooden drawers had been scattered throughout the room.  
  
It was almost as if the perpetrators had harmed Angel and not only his room.  
  
'It's a good thing he didn't leave the book here,' Wes said from behind her and she shot him a disgusted look over her shoulder.  
  
'He'll be all right.' Wes smiled reassuringly at her.  
  
She bit her lip in uncertainty. 'Do you have any idea how large this town is? We could search every building from now till Christmas and Angel could be dead tomorrow!' And she would never know where and how he had met this death, for once not dealt him by her hand. She trembled. She was NOT going to let that happen, and all the vampires of Rome could bet their pathetic un-lives on that.  
  
Buffy spun on her heel, unable to stand staring at the demolished room for another second.  
  
'I'm going hunting until I find some snivelling demon that can tell me what I want to hear.'  
  
Her former Watcher did not look at her as he spoke but walked to the remains of the bed and pulled an unharmed bag from underneath the spring- sprouting mattress. 'I will come with you...'  
  
And this time she didn't bother to argue. He would probably be incapable of keeping up with her anyway and if she was lucky she would loose him in some dark and dank alleyway.  
  
X  
  
'What I don't understand is that in the ancient Egyptian scrolls, Sethek, or simply Seth, was always depicted with either, uh, the face of a mule or a pig...ce-certainly not a horse, by no means one with only three legs.' Giles turned a page in the mouldy book and looked up at Willow and Kennedy who was sitting opposite him; calmly working their way through their fourth bag of crisps while browsing through old volumes he could have sworn held information about Sethek.  
  
'Willow, Kennedy, would you please fetch me a book from the study – uh... 'Ancient Tongues of the Third Circle'...?'  
  
Kennedy jumped to her feet, grabbing Willow's hand and pulling her to her feet. 'On it!'  
  
''Ancient Tongues'...' Kennedy said hesitantly, scanning the crowded room where every possible position seemed stacked with at least three books too many for the capacity of the available room. 'Would that be under 'A' for the title or 'L' for languages?'  
  
'I'll take the 'A',' Willow said and slowly let go of her hand. There was a short moment of silence.  
  
'So – that 'Angel' guy,' Kennedy began, her finger running along the back of the shelved books. '- he's a vampire right?'  
  
'Yeah,' Willow's voice replied from the opposite end of the room, 'but he's okay, really. He's helped us loads of times in the past. He's got a soul,' she explained. 'He and Buffy were kinda involved for a couple of years.'  
  
Kennedy nodded bitterly for herself. 'So he was the one who went all 'Crush, kill, destroy!' couple o' years back?'  
  
'Yes...and no! I mean, it wasn't Angel, or I guess it technically was, but it really wasn't his fault since he lost his soul and all.'  
  
'Any luck?' Xander came prancing into the room, happily munching on a doughnut. He had been effectively cleaned up and the only sign of his brush up with Buffy was a red nose and a right cheekbone that was slowly taking on a rather bluish complexion.  
  
'No,' Willow said and made a noncommittal gesture. 'You can lend a hand by looking 'Ancients tongues of the third circle' up under 'hell' or demon tongues.'  
  
Kennedy was not willing to let her chosen subject slip away that easily. 'How can we be sure he's all soulful now?'  
  
'Angel?' Xander said hopefully through a mouthful of doughnut.  
  
'The one and only.'  
  
'Well,' Willow said reluctantly. 'I'm a witch, okay? I would've felt it if he had lost his soul.'  
  
Kennedy placed a book back on the shelf. 'He attacked me.'  
  
Xander dropped a book on the floor. 'What?'  
  
'Who?' Willow exclaimed.  
  
'Angel,' Kennedy replied flatly.  
  
'When?'  
  
'You were packing with Emily,' Kennedy turned to face the two others. Willow was staring at her with an oddly sorrowful expression on her face. Xander, on the other hand, looked triumphant. 'The radio mentioned some gang-trouble at the local hangout so I went to check it out. He was there – in vamp face, but I know it was him.'  
  
Xander granted her an intense, inquiring stare. 'What happened?'  
  
In response, Kennedy merely brushed aside her long hair to expose the still red markings around her throat.  
  
Willow sucked in a shocked breath. 'No – it can't have been – Angel would never -'  
  
'I might be the only one to join the chorus,' Xander said, 'but I still say once a psychotic, sadistic mass-murderer, always a psychotic, sadistic mass- murderer.'  
  
Willow frowned at him. 'It wasn't him,' she said resolutely.  
  
'Now's not a good time to retreat into denial land, Will,' Xander said, 'seeing that Buffy's ex has retuned to his old ways and is smothering her friends.'  
  
Willow looked hopelessly at Kennedy. 'But Angelus, he – he would have killed you...'  
  
'Would he?' Xander waved the remains of his doughnut at her. 'Or would that have made it too obvious?'  
  
The red head whirled on him in fury. 'Stop it! You're just so bent on getting a fitting alibi for playing sneak on him that you'd jump on any fitting cue!'  
  
Xander frowned at her. 'You're forgetting the itsy-bitsy detail that they would've killed Buffy if it wasn't for me!'  
  
Willow turned to face him, hands on her hips. 'Oh, yeah, play the stropping hero! As if Buffy couldn't deal with a couple of vamps! She closed the Hellmouth, she killed the Master, she fought Glory! She can deal with one petty demon!'  
  
Xander's face was taking on a crimson hue. 'So you're siding with the vampire, huh?'  
  
'I'm not siding with anyone!' Willow screamed. 'This should not be about siding, anyway! It should be – used to be – about doing what is right, not selling your friends to the highest bidder!'  
  
'Angel is not my friend!' Xander yelled back.  
  
'It doesn't matter! It is not your job to decide who's fighting the good fight!'  
  
'No, let's wait for him to go ballistic on us again before judging the good Angel,' Xander sneered sarcastically. 'He probably had a good reason for it all along.'  
  
'Yeah, for all you know he might have had! And he trusted us enough to come to us, didn't he?'  
  
'Oi, Will: pushing a great mess unto someone else just 'cause you can't cope with it, that's not trust, that's cowardice.'  
  
'And pretending to be acting out of concern for others and not out of jealousy when signing his death warrant wasn't?'  
  
Xander's face had now taken on the distinctive colour of a boiled lobster. 'I'm NOT jealous of Angel,' he snarled.  
  
Willow took a deep breath as if to regain some self-control. 'Pretty soon it won't matter anyway.'  
  
And without a glance at either of them, she snatched a random book from the shelf in passing and strode out of the room. Xander shot Kennedy a dark look and she returned it before they both followed Willow downstairs.  
  
X  
  
Angel felt quite certain that his head had been transformed into lead. It felt too heavy for him to possibly move it so he didn't even try. Sharp pain was pulsating at the back of his brain and behind his closed eyes, making his black world swirl and spin at the same time. He wondered dimly whether he had been drugged.  
  
Conscience surged over him and brought back the full scale of the pain a little too abruptly for his taste.  
  
He stood still for a moment, trying hard to shut out the whirlwind of pain in his ears and strained them to catch any physical noise around him. When no sounds came and no scent reached his nostrils, he slowly forced his eyelids open; the blackness around him seemed even deeper than that behind his closed eyes where an occasional patch of light, spurred by the pain in his head, would rise before slowly ebb away into nothingness once more.  
  
As feeling slowly returned to his limbs, he realised his arms were shackled above his head in a truly uncomfortable position that did nothing to favour the broken ribs, he had brought with him as a wicked souvenir of his host's vigorous greeting. He knew he was no longer wearing his duster, because the cold surface of rough stone brushed against his bare arms whenever he moved.  
  
He felt weird within. Normally an empty feeling would be followed by a heavy feeling which usually resulted in an intense brooding session. This, though, this was different.  
  
He knew he had been betrayed. He knew it would probably result in some gruesome death at the hands of his enemy. And he didn't care.  
  
He jerked at his chains in rage but they merely chimed chilly as they collided and then did nothing. He wanted to scream and shout and rage but somehow he couldn't gather the strength for it. Hell knew he would need his strength soon enough.  
  
He didn't hate Buffy for doing it. It was all so very confusing but he did not hate her for betraying him again, just like he hadn't hated her then. And this time he even thought he knew why, that he understood.  
  
And that was a turn-up from usual.  
  
He closed his eyes tightly; revelling in the darkness he chose himself and allowed a wry half-smile to slip across his face. Being chained up in some cold, murky dungeon was hardly a new experience. Actually, he could probably be said to be rather experienced on the subject.  
  
And his hosts' might be as sadistic, as talented in inflicting pain and as morbid as he had been, but unlike him they had not spent a century in hell. After such an experience there were quite high expectations for the earthly demons to measure up to.  
  
So he stood calmly in his own personal darkness and waited for his tormentors to come.  
  
X  
  
Everybody could be broken.  
  
Everybody.  
  
Angel remembered himself saying those words to William during the first lecture he ever gave the young demon on the arts of torture. Everybody could be broken, it was only a question of time and means; the patience of the torturer. 'Where is the book?'  
  
The sunlight was causing ethereal figures of smoke to dance across his pale skin in a sickening manner. He clenched his teeth, determined to remain silent while they burned him to ashes. He was no longer wearing his shirt and his back was raw with the lash wounds that had not yet healed.  
  
Along the left wall, away from the bright, narrow ray of sunlight that spilled into the cold, stone-build room through a window partially obscured by rectangular black screens, sat Cerbero. He sounded incessantly bored.  
  
'Let's try that one again.' One of the vamps that flanked his chair, face devoid of any emotion, stepped forward and delivered a forceful blow to Angel's jaw that made his head snap backwards. 'Where is the book?'  
  
Angel stared at the blinding light before him and resolutely ignored the question; he could taste the metallic tinge of blood in his mouth. The sunbeams caressed his left shoulder and a flame sprung to life above the collar bone. A soft hiss escaped his lips at the sharp twinge of pain.  
  
'Maybe that's too hard a question. Let's try another.' The older vampire spoke slowly, allowing the tiny flame to pick up strength. 'Why did you bring it here?'  
  
For a moment Angel forgot the flame that was digging into his left shoulder as it struck him that Cerbero did not know about Buffy and Giles' involvement. That was good, right? 'Because the Italian postal service is so incompetent it would end up in White Russia if I sent it by the mail.'  
  
The sunlight had been blocked out and while the flame died, a hand closed roughly around his jaw, shoving his head back while another forced drops of Holy Water down his throat. Immediately his insides began to burn terribly, his throat swelled against the scorching liquid and the muscles at his neck contracted in spasms against the blazing pain. Powerful coughs rocked his entire frame and the chains cried shrilly as they collided.  
  
Cerbero did not speak before Angel had regained some control over his rapid breathing, the large gulps of cool air dulling the pain.  
  
'The book was not in your room. We raided it before we brought you here. So, Angel, dear, if you won't mind: a little more honesty this time, per favore.'  
  
Angel grinded his teeth stubbornly.  
  
For a moment the small, dark room was submerged in complete silence; then Cerbero uttered a soft sigh and gestured vaguely with his right hand and one of the vampires stepped forward again.  
  
X  
  
Buffy was not just furious, she was tired, frustrated and afraid for Angel, which all in all resulted in her punching the vamp before her a tad harder than she had intended. As a result, the demon doubled over and its limp form fell to the ground at her feet.  
  
She stared at it, breath following breath in surging through her body.  
  
'Well,' came Wesley's voice from the dark shadows behind her. 'I'm sure he will tell us everything he knows now.'  
  
Buffy turned her back to the unconscious vampire. As company, her ex- watcher had proven to be as enjoyable as a tarantula in the trousers. And she was pretty certain she would have gone for the spider any day. 'Could you cut it with the sarcasm? Instead of just playing smart-ass couldn't you call some of your smart-ass friends to make them find somewhere for me to search for my stupid, inconsiderate, smart-ass ex?'  
  
He raised his eyebrows slightly at her and she sighed, not able to keep herself from rolling her eyes in frustration.  
  
'Look, you might not have noticed, being new here and all, but this town is quite large, and as much as I hate to admit it, it is physically impossible for a person to search through it single-handedly in a single night, and if you haven't noticed, then our informants aren't telling.'  
  
'Do they have hideout?'  
  
Okaay, one-hundred-and-eighty degrees subject change: check. 'Huh?'  
  
It was his turn to sigh.  
  
'A meeting place. A place where they go to, to group up, meet up – it's a very common vampire pract-'  
  
'Save me the lecture.' Only half on her mind concentrated upon a snappy remark, Buffy realised what Wesley was suggesting. It was probably some big organisation wanting their hands on Angel. Chances were they wouldn't be dallying about the streets of Rome the same night as the abduction. It was far more likely they would hang out somewhere with a good harvest. 'The dead end....'  
  
She couldn't believe that this simple, simple move had eluded her completely.  
  
Wesley studied her with that strange light in his eyes again. 'Far?' he asked.  
  
'You can dig it,' she answered.  
  
X  
  
Along the narrow alley lay rubbish bins with the varying content scattered across the tarmac, lending the morning air a mouldy-sweet stench and Buffy frowned, attempting, unsuccessfully, to keep herself from breathing too deeply.  
  
A sudden noise behind her made her spin on her feet, and, her heart racing, her arm shot upward instinctively so the wooden stake in her hand was poised. Wesley shot her a sheepish look and carefully sidestepped the bin before him. Buffy couldn't help but grimace at him to be quiet before she turned to find herself face to face with the entrance to the Bloodsucker Pub, the brightening light of dawn in her back.  
  
And this was the part she liked the best.  
  
Her kick sent the rusty door flying off its hinges to disappear in the darkness of the murky room and, stake still clutched firmly in hand, she followed. A stinging tingling feeling at the back of her neck warned her of the attack even before her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and she thrust her arm outward, the feeling of the stake colliding with solid mass was followed by a hollow cry as the vampire crumbled to dust. Immediately a flurry of movement went off around her and she became aware of demons scrambling for cover, diving out of back windows, darting out of fire exits and disappearing through trap-doors in the wooden floor. Considering that sunrise had arrived, Buffy found the last option the most sensible seen from a vampire's kind of view.  
  
'Hey!' Being ignored was not something she enjoyed particularly much. 'HEY!'  
  
The activity stilled. A vampire gawked stupidly at her, the lower half of its body disappearing through the hatch; another had frozen with its hands on the window sill and the head of the third was slowly becoming visible behind the counter at her left.  
  
'So, speak up: where's Angel?'  
  
Her small audience stared at her in plain incomprehension.  
  
''uh?' Trap-Door Guy managed.  
  
'Yeah,' she said, waving the stake around in a blatant fashion. 'Word is that some of you guys jumped on him and I would like to know where, why and how.' The last part had left her mouth when she frowned despite herself. 'Well, maybe not the last bit.'  
  
And the guy at the window was gone in a flail of his coat and the trap-door slammed shut against the wooden floor. Something rushed past her shoulder and it took her a second to realise it was Wesley, as the ex-Watcher bent down and jerked the hatch upward; a weird expression crept across his face, like he had found something really disgusting in his meal, and he lowered the shutter, placing it against the floor once more with a soft pad. He straightened his legs and looked back up at Buffy.  
  
'Nothing there,' he announced.  
  
'You don't say,' she sneered, offering him no more than a brief glance. The third vampire was still cowering behind the counter and it struck her that it was acting remarkably cowardly for a demon. The most vampires she had met, well, ran into, would have made a dash for an exit, oblivious to whatever harm might overcome them. But then again, the most vampires she had encountered were No More.  
  
'D'you know...' she trailed off.  
  
'Cerbero,' Wesley finished for her.  
  
'No,' the vampire said but not before it eyes had darted nervously from her to the nearest way of escape. For creatures that were all about evil and deceit, vampires were really quite abysmal at lying.  
  
'Look,' Buffy said, crossing her arms before her. 'I've already killed five vamps tonight. Six would just be overkill.'  
  
The vampire blinked.  
  
'So where is Angel?' she repeated.  
  
The vampire straightened its legs until it stood tall against the back wall, towering at least a foot over the top of her head. Buffy cocked her head slightly and pretended not to notice the way it looked down on her.  
  
'Don't know,' it huffed derisively.  
  
Beside her, Wes sighed demonstratively before she felt him brush past her and the sharp crack of a gun being fired resounded through the small room, promptly succeeded by the shrill yelp of the vampire that clung desperately to the counter, its yellow eyes wide in fear and shock as it raised its head to stare at the rugged man before it.  
  
'You shot me in the knee!' it screamed, raising its bloodied palm for them to see.  
  
Buffy stared dumbfounded at the man before her. The Wesley Windham-Price she thought she knew would never have walked willingly into a vampire den, for not to mention the utter absence of any skill in handling a firearm, and she was pretty sure he would definitely never ever shoot anyone in cold blood. Not even a demon.  
  
And yet this was exactly what she had just witnessed him do.  
  
'Yes,' Wesley agreed slowly, as though this was only just dawning on him. 'But you see,' he added, placing a hand on either side of the vampire's cowering form so his face was mere inches from the demon's. 'If you tell us where they took him, you'll still have one knee.' He straightened slightly whilst nodding calmly for himself. 'But if you don't you won't need any.' And he raised the gun again as if to illustrate his point.  
  
The vampire shivered.  
  
'I – he'll kill me!' it shrieked desperately at them. 'If I don't tell you, you'll kill me, and if I do, he'll do you the favour. Either way I end up pretty dead!'  
  
Buffy stepped forward. 'Don't worry about the Big Tough. I'm kicking his sorry ass to Hell.'  
  
It turned its head, the yellow eyes seizing hers. 'Slayer?' it whispered weakly.  
  
She felt a cruel smile slip across her face. 'No kidding.'  
  
Wesley cleared his throat. The vampire's hand slid away from its battered knee and its gaze dropped to the floor in defeat. 'There's this house Cerbero owns. They always take their charges there.'  
  
'Would they take someone there for interrogation?'  
  
It looked at her. 'Possibly.'  
  
'Address?' Wesley repeated and cocked the gun.  
  
'36th, Via Collatina, Eastern region.' The words left the vampires mouth so swiftly Buffy felt her eyebrows arch upward in involuntary admiration.  
  
'You'll show us the way,' Wesley said in a tone that encouraged no opposition.  
  
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x  
  
A/N: Thanks so much to all who reviewed. I'm so sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. My muse decided to take its summer holiday too, but I think he's back now and the next chapter should be up in a couple of days.  
  
Well, I really hope you're still with me. Please review :-) 


	6. Revelations

Chapter 5: Revelations  
  
Author's thanks at end  
  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
  
'There are three sides to every story:  
  
Yours,  
  
Mine,  
  
And the truth.'  
  
- Chinese saying  
  
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x  
  
A short stairway lead from the cobbled street to the tiny front-porch of the pale peach-coloured building that stood tall and narrow between the adjoining houses. Small square windows in the rough wall were covered by heavy wooden shutters, underneath which hang baskets carrying an assortment of different withered flowers.  
  
'You can't just dash in there without any knowledge of the situation at hand.' Wesley gave her a reproachful stare that held a striking similarity to the ones her mom had used to flash her every time Buffy had hinted at the possibility of going clubbing that night.  
  
'Watch me,' Buffy just slid out as a way of responding before pushing the car-door open.  
  
To find it locked.  
  
'We need some plan of action.' There was an agitated note to the Watcher's voice and Buffy unwillingly sunk back in her seat. As much as it was convenient to have Lucky Luke as a travel companion, she was beginning to tire of his tendency to treat her like a child. And considering it was day, simply chucking the vampires out of the windows struck her as a pretty decent plan.  
  
'I do have a plan,' she told him. It came out sharper than she had intended; not that she cared too much. 'I go in there and do what I do best while you watch my back and do what you like best, which I presume involves putting small round things into demons.'  
  
The gaze of the man opposite her did not even waver.  
  
'Doesn't that strike you as rash? Thoughtless?'  
  
That annoyed her.  
  
'Please! I've actually been doing this a long time. Besides, anything that doesn't involve years of plotting and mapping and sketching out always seems to strike the Tea-Drinking type as rash.'  
  
He snorted.  
  
She wondered whether he was offended by this but when she looked at him, Buffy was rather surprised to find a soft smile playing at the corner of Wesley's mouth.  
  
'That was exactly what Sp -' He broke off and suddenly became very busy pocketing his keys. 'Never mind,' he said, correctly interpreting her questioning silence.  
  
'You are very weird,' she informed him offhandedly.  
  
'Yes,' Wesley agreed thoughtfully. 'I suppose I am.' The seat creaked slightly as he shifted his weight to cast a glance at the demon, which was cowering on the floor of the backseats to avoid the rays of sunlight that waltzed gaily through the windows of the vehicle. 'Do you want to get off?'  
  
In answer, one of the backdoors was kicked open and the vampire flung itself out into the bright daylight; its hair catching fire before it disappeared in the shadows of a narrow alley that ran too close between the houses to allow anything larger than a donkey to pass.  
  
Buffy looked at Wesley, as a full magazine slipped back into the gun with a snap.  
  
'Where did you get those things from?' she asked before adding in a smaller voice: 'Wolfram and Hart?'  
  
Wesley was busy ruffling his pockets for extra ammunition and a moment went by in silence before he answered.  
  
'No. It is his.'  
  
'Angel's?' Buffy felt her brows contract in incomprehension.  
  
'No,' Wesley repeated in a gruff mumble. 'The Big Bad's.'  
  
'Oh,' she said, though to her it still did not make perfect sense. She would probably need the entire story before it did, she thought. 'Could I have some when we're through with this circus?'  
  
Wesley offered her a wry half-smile, and she wondered whether it was a yes or a no but decided not to ask.  
  
Buffy had pondered her entrance, she really had. It would have been nice with one of those funky machines that spat out sickly-sweet smelling fog or with a fake clap of thunder. She would even have gone for some accompaniment courtesy of Beethoven or Mozart if she could get nothing else.  
  
All of this, obviously, was only fun if there was someone to notice the fog and the thunder and the swelling, inspirational music. But since the house was empty at the first and the second and the third glance, it would not really have mattered anyway.  
  
'Bad guys?' she called tryingly into an empty room that was separated from the kitchen by nothing more than brick-built half-wall. As nothing moved following the sound of her voice, she allowed her eyes to take in her surroundings. The house was narrow and sparse in furniture; the few windows that disrupted the plain surface of the bare walls were all covered with shutters, tape and blankets, which only allowed thin streams of sunlight to slip into the dark and gloomy room.  
  
It was obvious that someone had lived there long ago. A worn sofa stood along the half-wall, its short sturdy legs planted firmly upon the dusty and moth-eaten carpet and a couple of wooden chairs surrounded a lighter, rounded table in a corner. It was also obvious from the rotten grapes in the fruit bowl and the overturned plates on the floor that whoever had lived here they had suddenly taken off in a hurry.  
  
That or they had been disturbed by company.  
  
Buffy's gaze lingered momentarily on the dark blotch of dried blood on the carpet before she forced her eyes away and stepped into the kitchen, whose white tiles were covered in such thick layers of dust they appeared brownish grey. She could hear Wes rummage through the contents of the safe in the adjoining room, when she suddenly noticed how the dust had been disturbed at her feet, so the squared pattern of the grouped tiles stood out clearly among the dark surface of the dirty corners.  
  
Bending her knees, she slowly lowered her body into a sitting position, extending her arms slowly, as her fingers brushed along the edge of one of the tiles. It tipped slightly at her touch and she closed her fingers around it and pulled. It slid away with a grating sound.  
  
She stared for a moment as a circular handle of dark metal became visible before her hands began to work briskly, her fingers digging under the edge of the aligning tiles to pull them away. One of her nails broke but she did not care.  
  
It was a wooden hatch, barely more than thirty inches wide.  
  
She called out and felt the floor tremble slightly as Wesley came up behind her. The hatch slid open as Buffy jerked at the iron handle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wesley drop to his knees beside her, his eyes examining the underground passage that had materialised underneath the kitchen floor.  
  
'Nice,' he commented wryly.  
  
Buffy allowed her body to slide through the open hatch and felt her feet connect with firm, even ground. Probably concrete, she thought. Behind her, she heard Wesley's feet land with a dull thump as she moved silently along the narrow passageway. It was dark; the only light spilled into the enclosed space through the hatch behind her and it was barely enough to allow her to see where the floor ended and the walls began. In front of her rose a ladder, ending just underneath another trapdoor in the ceiling, this one closed.  
  
Buffy paused underneath it, listening for voices or any other sign of life and un-life from above, but nothing reached her ears but a hoarse, rattling sound. She blinked in confusion before recognising it as the breathing of someone in pain.  
  
Wondering whether she would end of in some befuddled neighbour's kitchen, Buffy pushed the hatch open, stake clutched firmly in her raised hand, and heaved her body into the room.  
  
It would have been as dark as the passageway she had just left behind, was it not for a thin seam of transparent sunlight that streamed into the room through the boards of wood that had been clumsily nailed across the window at the far wall. The fingers of daylight sneaked across the wooden floor (it was definitely not a kitchen, Buffy thought. More likely an old, reconstructed garden shed.), stopping just short of the slumping figure's legs.  
  
It was Angel and his limp form was supported by iron manacles fastened to chains in the ceiling. They were tired tight around his wrists, seeming as though the only thing keeping him on his feet. At the sight of his maltreated chest and the hideous burns at the side of his throat and at his cheek, which were barely healed, she felt her mouth go dry; the left side of his face was so bloodied she could not decide the seriousness or the number of wounds. Strung up as he was, she could see every rib bulge underneath his gaunt skin.  
  
'Angel!' Her legs felt very heavy and uncooperative as she ran to him.  
  
He raised his face slightly, blinking. 'Buffy?' he mumbled, his voice husky.  
  
She ran a hand down his right cheek in caress, her eyes for the first time taking in the sight of his face. His skin was more than pale; it was white against the blackness of his hair, which was damp with sweat. His lips, where they were not swollen and bloodied, had taken on a bluish hue like a child who has spent too much time in cold water. And the wound at the side of his throat looked like something had burned through the skin from within.  
  
'Hi,' she murmured gently.  
  
'Hi,' he whispered back hoarsely.  
  
She ran a finger along his brow. 'You okay?'  
  
He was breathing shallowly in small, wheezy gasps. He tilted his head slightly. 'I'm fine.' His head lolled to the side as he fainted.  
  
Buffy had not heard Wesley follow her through the hatch but suddenly he stood behind her, cocking the gun before calmly aiming at the chains. The crack of the gun was followed by the wooden coating around the bullets exploding in a waterfall of tiny splinters; Buffy swiftly closed her eyes and bowed her head to protect her face from the miniature missiles that rained down over her and Angel. The second chain came off and Angel collapsed to the ground in a jumbled heap.  
  
Buffy looked down at his unconscious form, noticing how even his hands was bleeding from an array of wounds. She wondered how many of those were because of wooden splinters following Wesley's trigger-happy rescue operation.  
  
Said Watcher had just slipped an arm underneath Angel's shoulder and hoisted the vampire to his feet.  
  
'I've got him,' he said. 'Get out.'  
  
Ignoring her impulsion to deliver a snappy remark, Buffy turned on her heels and allowed her body to snake through the trapdoor, ignoring the ladder, her feet connecting lightly with the concrete flooring of the passage. Suddenly the walk from the ladder to the other trapdoor seemed much longer than it had done the first time. She could see the faint illumination of the kitchen reach into the tunnel ahead of her and she drew nearer, step by step; she listened intently, her heart doing a hysterical tap-dance in her throat, but neither voices nor the ruffling of feet reached her ears.  
  
As she reached the trapdoor she grabbed the edge of the kitchen-floor above her and hoisted her body through the narrow space with ease. Angel appeared rather reluctant to make matters any easier for Wes, who gradually and laboriously succeeded in manoeuvring the unconscious body through the trapdoor to Buffy. Grabbing Angel's bare, lifeless arms she yanked him up and into the kitchen where he lay, eyes closed and skin pale, looking truly like a dead man.  
  
Wesley had scarcely closed the hatch behind them, when the doors to the outdoors were slammed open, and vampires surged into the room, all heavily covered in thick blankets from head to toe.  
  
Buffy froze. Beside her, Wes had paused half-way between picking Angel up by the shoulder.  
  
For a moment their presence went unnoticed, while the creatures flung off the extra clothing, grumbling, muttering and cursing among themselves, while the smoke that rose from their bodies slowly stilled. Then one of them turned a ridged forehead their way and its yellow eyes widened in surprise.  
  
'Chi siete voi?'  
  
Wes suddenly had his hand raised, the gun seemingly materialising out of thin air and the vampire who had spoken shrieked, before its body drizzled to the floor in a cloud of dust and ash. The remaining vampires spun on their feet, staring as they recognised the ammunition. One of them stepped forward and Buffy noticed the spark of recognition in the eyes as its glance swept past her to linger on Wesley.  
  
'Oh Dio!' it exclaimed, its voice strikingly un-raspy for a four-century old vampire. 'You again!' There was a twinge of exasperation in its voice though this was not as striking as its obvious playfulness. Cerbero looked at her. 'You're the slayer,' it said. Buffy felt a sarcastic reply on the tip of her tongue but was cut off as it went on, this time to Wesley. 'And you, a demon hunter. Why are you helping him?'  
  
Without the support of Wesley's arm, Angel's body has slumped into a half-lying, half-sitting position against the wall.  
  
Buffy glared in revulsion at the vampire less than two steps away from her.  
  
'Ever heard the terms 'friends' or 'loyalty'?'  
  
Cerbero did not get the chance to respond, as Wesley had aimed and fired, before it had even opened its mouth. Twisting his body with surprising agility and speed, Cerbero dodged the bullet, which struck a vampire right behind him and it crumbled to dust. Cerbero's eyes travelled from the patch of dust at his feet to Buffy's face with an indifferent air.  
  
'Don't you Americano ever talk? It's always hit, punch, shoot, kill -'  
  
Buffy was getting tired of the scenario. She had better things to do than to talk to some weirdo vampire Corleone, who obviously had far too much time on his hands.  
  
'Are you done or can we move on to the slaying part?'  
  
Cerbero clapped his hands together. 'Case in point.'  
  
Buffy took a step forward, her fingers tightening around the smooth stake in her hand. She had anticipated the vampires move and dodged his blow, ducking and following through with a spinning kick. She felt her foot catch the side of its face and Cerbero spun on his feet, too quickly regaining his balance and sharp pain shot through Buffy's brain as his clenched fist connected forcefully with the front of her face. Through watering eyes, she saw his hand flying towards her face for a second time and her arm shot out by pure instinct, blocking the blow whilst her other hand landed heavily across the vampire's face.  
  
She landed strike after strike at his jaw, forcing him backwards, and Cerbero staggered under her blows, staggered, stumbled, reeled...before finally falling to his knees at her feet. The stake came whizzing through the air but she steadied her hand an inch from the vampire's chest. 'Oh, almost forgot!' She grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head back so she could see his eyes. 'What's this weird horsy-thing that's out and about and what's your interest in it?'  
  
She had expected an insincere answer. She was prepared for a violent reaction. What she had not anticipated was for Cerbero's face to go so pale it would have made her bed sheets proud.  
  
'He's loose!' he whispered, his voice thick with fear.  
  
This took her so much by surprise she unintentionally loosened her hold on his hair to take a couple of steps backwards.  
  
'And so? What's your deal?'  
  
Two more vampires had crumbled to dust under Wesley's artillery so, save Cerbero, only two remained. Seeing Buffy's reaction the ex-watcher paused and slowly lowered the gun.  
  
Cerbero struggled to his feet. He looked at her in disbelief.  
  
'You really don't know,' he hissed, shaking his head in incredulity.  
  
The floor creaked beside her as Wesley stepped closer. 'Why did you want the book?'  
  
Cerbero's ridged forehead turned to him, slowly and arduously like a snake before it strikes. But he answered honestly: 'To destroy it.'  
  
Buffy blinked. 'Why?'  
  
Cerbero slumped down in one of the armchairs. 'A couple of years back I stumbled across some texts mentioning an ancient book written in the tongue of the Evil One himself. It was said to hold the spirit of one of his most wrathful and vengeful fiends, a force so destructive it would swallow this reality until there is nothing but darkness.'  
  
Buffy put her hand in the air. 'Erm, sorry to interrupt this mesmerising trip down memory lane, but technically, you are a demon. Apocalypses are your deal.'  
  
Cerbero shot her a grim look. 'Says who?' he countered. 'I like this world as long as I manage to steer clear of any trouble. This has so far resulted in what, four-hundred enjoyable years? Well,' he lighted a cigar and placed it between his teeth. It wobbled energetically up and down as he spoke. 'I'm not big on major destructiveness. Never has been, probably never will be. However, it just so happened that an associate of mine was,' here he glowered at Angel whose chest was still rising and falling erratically, his eyes closed as the back of his head leant against the wall. 'I knew this thing would capture Angelus' interest sooner or later, and when my connections in the US informed me that the book was to be found in the very same town as held the residence of Angelus, I decided that I had to act swiftly.'  
  
Wes stared at the vampire. 'Destroy them or the book before they had a chance to release this demon.'  
  
'Exactly. That Angelus would be capable of such a feat, I did not doubt. His records speak quite clearly for themselves.'  
  
'So you abducted him in the hope that he would tell you where the book could be found, thus preventing him from releasing this hellish evil.' Wesley's voice conveyed no emotions, and Buffy did not know what he was feeling upon hearing this. 'Yet, this was never Angel's intention. He was under the belief that the murders were occurring because someone wanted their hands on the book in order to indulge in the dark magic he assumed it to possess. So he took it to Italy to consult a former colleague in the matters of Djé-vàil and the subject of the texts.'  
  
'But ended up releasing the demon.' Cerbero was cramming his head between his hands.  
  
''Angel' released this thing?' Buffy glared at Wesley. See, there was something someone forgot to mention!  
  
'Erm, yes,' Wesley muttered. 'Yes, I'm afraid he did.'  
  
'Brilliant!' He shot her a look and she rolled her eyes. 'What, I can't be sarcastic?' She sat down on the edge of the small table. 'So what is this thing?'  
  
'Sethek, I presume,' Wes said but Cerbero shook his head.  
  
'I don't think so.' The long, slim fingers absent-mindedly pulled at a loose thread that sprouted from the left armrest of the chair. 'Sethek was an Egyptian god; if his spirit was haunting some ancient texts they would be unlikely to be written in Djé-vàil. What is more,' the vampire added, 'Sethek was yet another God of Death believing himself superior to all other deities. It is highly unlikely that he would strike a pact with Satana as it is said this demon has done.'  
  
It was hard not to laugh at the expression on Wesley's face.  
  
'Nevertheless this thing is still at large, killing and slaughtering its way southward,' Buffy said, not looking at her flustered companion. 'We don't know what it is, so I can't kill it. And to make matters even better it seems like it's our entire fault it's here in the first place.'  
  
'Because you trusted a vampire with no greater desire than power and destruction, control.'  
  
Buffy really did not like the twit. Why couldn't the vampires just stand still and be quiet and let her get on with her work? 'Check out the mirror image!'  
  
'He took over Wolfram and Hart,' the vampire countered, whilst Buffy struggled to grasp just how the discussion had taken this turn.  
  
'Could you get it through your concrete skull this is not Angelus, but Angel. He's got his soul!'  
  
'Yeah, and I don't but I was not the one starting the final apocalypse either!' When the vampire got angry, he sounded remarkably like a spitting cat.  
  
'Jeez, is there some kinda long-running popularity contest going on between you too?'  
  
'That is a long story,' Wes said in a tone that effectively told them that the argument was over.  
  
'Which you may have the pleasure of relating.' Cerbero stood up. 'I'm outta here.'  
  
This did not seem to come as a surprise to Wesley. 'Where?'  
  
'If the Apocalypse is starting here, I'm thinking Canada. Should take some time for it to reach so far, don't you think?'  
  
'You are just gonna jump ship?'  
  
He smiled at her, and the fangs made it look more like a leering grimace. 'Si, fior di bellezza. We can't all be champions for the final battle. Have a nice war.'  
  
There could not be that many slayers who struck deals with vampires, Buffy thought. It was good to be special. She grimaced. 'What makes you think we're just gonna let you walk out of here?'  
  
He simply flashed a toothy grin, his back arching into an overdramatic regal bow before he snatched his hat from the small three-legged table and turned to walk out into the daylight once more. The two remaining vamps flung a couple of blankets over their heads and after a last curious glance at Buffy and Wes they followed Cerbero through the door.  
  
Angel's frenzied breathing had calmed to the odd hissing breath by the time Buffy and Wesley with combined strength succeeded in manoeuvring his body into the backseat of the former Watcher's tiny vehicle.  
  
Buffy sat stiffly in her seat, staring straight out of the windscreen without truly seeing the cobbled road wind away before them. Wesley had had the good sense to bring a heavy woollen rug, and she had been careful to cover Angel's body from the merciless rays of sunlight that fell across the car seats.  
  
His condition bothered her more than she should like, and it was not just the newly gained wounds. She could not understand how his friends had allowed him to lose so much weight; seeing him like that, pale, with ribs winding around his frame like thick ropes underneath the gaunt skin... it felt wrong.  
  
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Wesley shot her a sidelong glance.  
  
'We have to let the others know we've found him.' The gearbox grunted in displeasure as Wesley forced the gear lever into second. 'Then we can either let him borrow a room there until sunset or take him back to the hotel.'  
  
Buffy just nodded but remained silent. She was still trying to get her head around the part where the bad guy suddenly transformed into the hero and vice versa. Well, no one could ever claim that a life of vampire-slayage was boring.  
  
Angel had regained consciousness by the time Wesley pulled up beside Giles' new hideout, which really made the whole pull-him-out-of-the-car-and-carry-him-to-the-front door part much easier. He was quite insistent on going himself, until he stumbled and got his hand singed from the sunlight when the rug slid off, and Buffy was allowed to support his shoulder. The familiar sensation of his body against hers was making Buffy's thoughts slightly slurred, and her head felt strangely light at the same time.  
  
The moment the front door slammed shut behind her, she immediately withdrew her supporting arms, and Angel reeled into the nearest wall before regaining his balance.  
  
Buffy had turned her back, when she felt Wesley's hand cover hers, just as her fingers closed around the doorknob to the door that opened into the study-room. She glared at him, but Wes silently chucked a shirt at Angel who caught it with an awkward expression on his face before he, still without a word, removed his hands from Buffy's and she pulled the door open.  
  
The room was utterly deserted. A couple of books lay sprawled upon the table and loose papers were scattered all over the floor. For a second Buffy wondered whether they had been attacked but her racing heart slowed in relief at the sound of animated voices coming through the ceiling.  
  
'We're home!' she called, and instantly the voices broke off and running feet thundered towards the stairs. 'And this bad guy he was really trying to save the world, and it was the good guys who released the demon, and it's all a very long story but he didn't think it was Sethek,' she finished as Willow joined Giles at the foot of the stairs. She stared at them. 'Where's Xander and Kennedy?'  
  
'Uh...they're at work,' Willow said, gesturing with her arms. Buffy saw her eyes travel from hers, as the redhead sat eyes on Angel, who had not been slow to take a seat at the table. Being chained upright for more than twelve hours did tend to have that effect on people. 'Oh, hi Angel. You okay?'  
  
Buffy was looking at Giles so did not see whether Angel had opened his mouth to respond when Giles cut him off.  
  
'I've found something.' Her old Watcher had that sharp note in his voice that usually meant that 'something' was pretty close to 'apocalypse' and 'widespread death and destruction'. He was holding a book before his chest and she recognised it as the one Angel and Wesley had brought.  
  
'The demon?' Wesley's voice inquired behind her.  
  
Giles looked at them.  
  
'It is not Sethek,' he said. 'And I dare say it is much, much worse.'  
  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
  
A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed :-) I am not very happy with this chapter, nothing I did could make it work like I wanted, so yes, the bad guy is kinda goofy, but hey, he's not the real bad anyway, so who's caring?  
  
Well, please review!! 


	7. Helhesten

Chapter 6: Helhesten

'A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,

We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;

But were we burdened with like weight of pain,

As much or more we should ourselves complain.'

William Shakespeare

* * *

'How do you top a god of death when it comes to the nastiness stakes?' Buffy stared at Giles. 'I mean, they are supposed to be pretty morbid, right?'

'Apparently, this thing is really terrible and sadistic and all,' Willow supplied instantly.

'And a horse,' Buffy mused. 'Gosh, can this get any more exciting?'

Wesley had stepped up next to Giles, tilting his head so he could squint at the book. Buffy could not understand why he bothered. It was not like he could read the thing anyway.

'What is it then?'

'Have you ever heard of Helhesten?' Giles had his glasses off and were cleaning them agitatedly. But it was Angel's hoarse voice that answered.

'Scandinavian demon and its name roughly translates as 'hell horse'. It is the resentful spirit of a horse haunting graveyards -' he closed his eyes, '- and I can't believe I didn't think of that before.'

From the silence in the room, Buffy knew she was not the only one who was staring.

'Um...yes, quite,' Giles said.

'What does it do?' Willow asked. 'Any special powers and all that so they are much stronger than us and make it almost impossible for us to kill them? Can it be killed?'

Buffy smiled humourlessly. 'Watch it, Wills, or you will de-crown me as the King of un-peppish pep-talks!'

Giles took his glasses off and put them back on again. It made her dizzy to look at. 'I – truth be told, I don't...um...don't really know yet.'

'But you'll look into it,' Buffy stated simply. That part stopped being questionable years ago.

Giles shot her a brief look. 'We,' he said, accentuating the word with great care, 'will look into it.'

'Sounds peachy. Well, I'll just go and get Angel patched up a bit.'

Even Angel stared at her.

'- where after I will hurry down and join the snoring party,' she added quickly. 'Don't worry. You know you can't keep me from this crazy house of fun for long.'

Giles snorted.

Buffy started up the stairs and heard the chair legs scrape along the floor as Angel got to his feet to follow her. She could feel Giles' eyes burn a mark in the back of her neck even after she had turned down the narrow corridor and disappeared from view.

At the fourth door on the right hand, she paused and gave it a soft push. Angel followed her into the bathroom in silence. She heard him sit down at the edge of the bath, as she pulled open the mirror-wardrobe's door to produce a large box with as many different variations of first aid kits as she, Giles and Willow had managed to procure.

A necessity when their little family's rendez-vous tended to involve ambushing, stabbing and beheading and not finding themselves in situations of the same.

Buffy placed the box beside the toilet.

'Is it bad?'

The question was not a necessity since looking at him quite simply substituted an answer but Buffy felt she owed his manly pride a chance to play the hero.

Of course he took it.

'No.'

'Do you need help?' she asked in a voice that she thought sounded far too cold and distant.

Angel's eyes sought hers for a second before he looked down again. He shook his head. 'No.'

'Good.'

She had almost closed the door after her when she paused in her tracks. 'There's a guest room two doors down to the left,' she said, not turning around. 'If - if you need to lie down.'

There came a soft 'thank you' from him and she closed the door. Buffy stood for a moment in the corridor and listened to the slow rhythm of her own heart, while no sounds came through the door from the bathroom.

They were not talking. That was good, right?

She wondered whether she ought to have helped him clean out the nastier wounds, but pushed the thought away. He was a big boy now, head of a law firm and all. He could take care of himself.

She passed the spare bedroom and felt her legs slow to a stand-still. Her fingers had tapped jingle-bells twice on the door's white surface, before she made up her mind and slipped into the room to pull the curtains for the windows.

Three hours passed with researching through books that all looked the same but dealt with a different demon each time, though never the one they were searching for, and it was taking Giles abnormally long to decrypt the texts of the book. Willow had left for work at the computer company and had light-heartedly dismissed Buffy's concerns about her late arrival and the problems she would subsequently run into with her boss.

'They are not all like Giles in cranky mood, you know,' her friend had joked before leaving Buffy with the two watchers as her only company. And to Angel she saw neither tail nor shadow the entire morning.

She was on page three-hundred and twenty-five of book seven when she slammed it shut with so much force both Giles and Wesley jumped.

'I'm taking a short break,' she announced abruptly. 'This is driving me insane.'

Giles mumbled something unintelligible.

'Do you have Svantes Demon Encyclopaedia?' Wesley asked and Buffy pushed her chair out and got to her feet. Giles and Wesley submerged themselves in a discussion of weird sounding ancient volumes and she disappeared upstairs, unable to care less whether or not Giles had that particular encyclopaedia or if they would have to make do with the thirty-five others.

The door to the bathroom had been pushed ajar and the box with the first aid kit had disappeared. Buffy tip-toed down the corridor, pausing outside the guest-room; listening, she heard the floor boards squeak slightly as Angel walked softly across the room.

Her hand levitated an inch from the plain surface of the door in a moment of indecision before she struck it gently. When he did not answer, Buffy pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Angel was sitting on the bed, his back to her, and she glimpsed the red lines that criss-crossed his white skin before he promptly pulled a shirt over his head. He jumped to his feet and turned to face her.

He was not as pale as when she had left him earlier and his lips were no longer blue. That, at least, was a major improvement.

'Buffy,' he said softly though there was a surprised tinge to his voice. She could not help but wonder who he had expected. Maybe Wesley?

'Hi,' she said, feeling stupid for staying there in the open door so she quickly closed it. 'You okay?'

'I'm fine.'

Better yes, but 'Fine', she thought, might just be an exaggeration. He had cleaned up his face and most of the wounds had already healed, though the burns on his cheek and throat was another matter. They still looked raw and inflamed, as though his captors had poured corrosive liquids down his throat. Which, she thought in disgust, they probably had. She suddenly realized he was aware of her staring at him.

'Um...' she clasped and unclasped her hands. 'Are you hungry – cos I can always slip by the butcher when I take a break from my calling as a study buddy?'

Angel had sat down upon the bed again. 'I'm fine,' he just repeated.

It struck her his voice flat, dismissive, almost hostile, and it unsettled her more than it should have.

'You know, every time you say that it becomes less and less convincing.'

He just looked at her, and the strange emptiness in his eyes struck her. There was something uncaring in his glance, a desolation she did not understand.

'Why did you give it up?' She could have bit her own tongue off. She had not intended the words to slip out but now she could not leave it at that. He still had not moved and she stiffened with uncertainty and discomfort. 'Your fight, our fight?'

He looked at her for so long she did not think he intended to answer.

'I didn't.'

She swallowed, looking down. 'Oh.'

Then there was more silence in which she looked at Angel trying not to look at her.

'Then Wolfram and Hart –'

'Was different,' he interrupted brusquely.

'I'd say!' she blurted out, unable to stop herself. Angel flinched slightly. 'Well, you didn't exactly use to strike off deals with shady lawyer-demon types.'

Her disappointment seeped into her voice, and Angel's expression darkened visibly as he picked it up.

'I didn't have a choice.'

It would almost have been better if he had said 'I did it because I felt bored and needed something more in my life'. This pathetic submission made her angry, seeing that, although she would never admit it to herself, it marked yet another step Angel had taken to increase the distance between them.

'There is always a choice.'

Rather than facing her wrath, Angel stood up and walked to the corner of the room. Amid all her confusion and anger Buffy felt a welcoming pang of normalcy, as she remembered how he had always done that. She wondered whether he was aware of how he sought physical support every time he became uncertain or afraid of something. Then he answered and broke off her musings.

'Or an ultimatum.' He looked at her and there was something of the old trust in his eyes, and as the gullible, hopeful, ignorant girl she was Buffy chose to latch onto that shadow of trust as had it been a lifeline.

'One of those 'if you don't do this we will do that' kinda deals?'

'Yes.'

Buffy waited for the continuation but it did not seem like any was coming. 'And what?'

Angel turned from the corner and he arched his neck back to stare at the ceiling before he lowered his eyes again. 'I can't tell you,' he said quietly.

The mannerism was suddenly more reminiscent of his soulless self, and the twinge of hope hat had dwindled hopefully within Buffy's chest moments before was brutally doused by the ice that spread from her stomach.

'Why, is it 'confidential'?' Buffy had not even noticed that she had stepped closer to him. 'Do you have to be a 'lawyer' to understand it?'

Angel did not show it if her anger struck him. He looked down at her and the unfeeling glint was back in his eyes, making them hard. Buffy suddenly found herself missing the hope and trust she thought she had seen in them earlier.

'You don't understand,' he said and his voice was cold.

'No,' she spat back, feeding her anger with the frustration that sped through her as she fought back tears, 'and how could I, when you won't tell me what the hell is going on? Not all people can read minds. Sometimes you have to tell them stuff – it's called 'conversation'!'

This time she knew he was angry too. There was a time he would not have shouted at her but that did not seem like an issue anymore.

'Don't tell me to open up and share my problems when you made it so perfectly clear a few weeks back that you don't trust me anymore!' He stepped closer, towering over her, and his eyes darkened in synchrony with his skin which paled in anger. 'My choices and my decisions are my business, not yours, and I fight my fight as I see fit. You can distrust me if you like, you can hate me if it makes it easier for you, but I'm here on business and I owe you nothing!'

Stunned, Buffy was unable to speak for a moment. Her throat was tight, the heat of anger gone, leaving only an immobilising freezing sensation behind. That, and the tears burning treacherously behind her eyes. 'What had you expected! You don't call, you don't write, and wham! you take over the most evil corporation in the world! I didn't –'

'You told me to work on the second front. I did it the only way I could.'

'Don't you try and blame me for your decisions!'

'I'm not blaming you for anything! They were my decisions and I stand by them. I can't do anything else.'

'Oh, that's right; _you didn't have a choice_.'

'Exactly. You cannot understand what I fight, so don't try to.'

That was not something he was to decide, Buffy thought heatedly. 'How can you expect me to understand when I don't even know what happened!'

'You don't need to understand!' Angel roared back across the room.

She gave a dry chuckle although she found the scenario anything but funny, the forced laughter at least serving to keep the tears firmly behind their glassy shield. 'No, of cause not, because I'm just a useful tool and why should you bother with me?'

The muscles in his neck were standing out like ropes and his fists were clenched. Buffy was pretty certain he was very close to sock her across the face. She almost wished he would do it because she felt very much like hitting him back.

'You are not unimportant!' he said, and his voice shook with controlled anger.

Or maybe something else.

'Funny, you could have fooled me!'

She thought he would shout again, but he did not.

'I'm sorry,' Angel said. The emptiness was gone from his eyes and they shone with pain and regret.

She cocked her head at him, fuelling her uncertainty into sarcasm. She was good at it by now. She had been doing it professionally so to speak for years. 'Mantra?'

'I'm sorry if you feel you are unimportant because you're not,' he said, sincerity in his voice and face. 'But the last I hear from you, you send Giles' camp underdog to screw me over with the help of an army of your slayers, being quite certain to hammer the message in. That didn't exactly inspire confidence.' His voice was growing slightly thick and he broke off the sentence.

Buffy licked her lips, her mouth uncomfortably dry. Angel blinked, his eyes dropping off her face.

'Angel, I…' But she did not know what to say. There was so much to say, so much to be sorry for that she no longer knew where to begin.

'I'm sorry,' he began, stepping away from her, his head bowed. 'That it should go this way.'

Suddenly, Buffy felt cold, vulnerable and exposed, not wanting to understand what he was saying, unable to deny it. Instinctively she flung her arms around her chest in a protective hug. 'Me too,' she whispered.

Angel almost looked at her but just before his eyes could brush over hers, he swiftly lowered his gaze to his hands. 'I'm sorry that I had to lose your trust and that of all my friends to save a soul. Sorry, for what I have done to my friends and why I had to do it. I'm sorry for the lives I ruin, for the souls I have to sacrifice to save others.' He paused with his back to her and she heard him let out a shaky breath. Buffy could feel her heart thundering against her ribs, the air tasting like ash on her dry tongue. 'In our fight with the Beast,' he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, 'my – someone I cared about, loved, he – he was lost.'

Feeling awkward, Buffy stood watching him, uncertain whether she ought to sit down or not. 'Died?'

Angel turned slowly to face her, and his eyes were dark with sorrow and pain. 'No. He lost his mind.' And suddenly his voice took on a sharper ring. 'My war drove him mad. I destroyed his life. So I struck a deal with the Senior Partners – they altered reality, gave him back his sanity, a normal life, wiped the memory of my friends so only I remember him, and in return I took the tall chair at Wolfram and Hart.' He spat the name out.

Buffy felt her head swim and promptly sat down on the bed, stunned. 'Oh God, Angel...' The full implications of his revelations were only just dawning on her; his reasons, his actions, the consequences… And he had to deal with it all, alone.

She could empathise.

'It's over – it's done.' Angel leant his back against the corner's wall, his gaze lost in some spot between his feet. 'And none of the others can ever know. Not about him, not why I did what I did, not about the true reasons for Cordelia's coma.'

His voice broke and silence descended between them again.

Buffy fiddled with the edge of her turquoise blouse, wondering what to say. Of cause, there was the time honoured classics of 'Oh, how terrible!' or 'Poor thing!' but they just did not strike the right note. So she stayed silent, overwhelmed.

She felt the mattress sag as Angel sat down beside her. Neither of them spoke and Angel had placed himself with the convenience gained with years of practice, a good inch or two separating their bodies. Buffy looked at him through the corner of her eye. An arm rested on each knee and his head was bowed; he was very still.

'Do you understand?' Angel's voice was muffled, and the words were flat, mechanical, as though he had been going over them in his head before speaking. His dark head rose, his face turned to hers.

Buffy met his dark eyes instinctively and felt a pang shoot through her. 'I do,' she answered, her voice quiet. She knew it soothed him though he merely bowed his head again, with no indication of what he felt.

Her skin itched like a full body makeover of pins and needles. It was so typical; the moment she agreed with herself that this deal was strictly no touching that was really all she wanted. The moment she could not touch, the yearning to feel rose powerfully in her chest, unwanted but strong.

The yearning to feel loved again.

To feel Angel again.

She jumped to her feet and took three quick steps to the door. When she turned around, Angel had raised his head and his eyes met hers, silently and questioningly.

'Well, uhm – I,' she flung her arms around her chest and her eyes darted around the room before they found Angel's face once more. 'I better go...'

Angel nodded, lowering his eyes again.

She bit her lip and could not get her legs to turn around. You were there, a small voice screamed in her ear. He opened up to you, now it's your turn.

'There's demon hunting on the programme for tonight,' her voice said instead, 'if you wanna come...?'

'Fine,' he said, not looking up.

She turned and closed the door after her, not looking back.

Angel saw the cold, plain surface of the door shut out Buffy's form as she stepped out of the room. He did not understand why she had come but he was not sure it mattered either. Groaning, he got to his feet and pulled the shirt off again. It was not particular comfortable to have the fabric brush against the healing lash wounds every time he moved.

He sunk back on the bed, ignoring the soreness of his back.

Treasuring it.

The physical discomfort was easier to deal with than the psychological war raging within him.

She had asked him why. She had believed something had made him choose that road, that he had not willingly forsaken his former life. And she had wanted to know what.

She had cared.

Even after all this time she still cared.

Two nights ago, when Angel had dumped into her life again as if they had not been apart for years, Buffy had not noticed how loose the clothes hang on him, how pale he looked. She had been far too busy with not seeing him at all.

That haunted, absent-minded look in his eyes had always been there but now it had been joined by something else. Hopelessness, desolation. It was a look she had only seen once before, on a hill top overlooking Sunnydale, but that was years ago. Angel had moved on, she told herself as she walked slowly down the stairs. He had a purpose now.

And yet, she doubted. The behaviour she had just witnessed was not that of a determined Angel, but of a doubtful one, one that was losing sight of his path.

She knew it from herself. Those despairing moments where nothing she did ever seemed to make a difference, those moments where it did not matter how hard she fought and what she sacrificed. Who she fought, who she sacrificed.

They kept coming. Stronger. More and more of them.

Sometimes private despair and isolation was easier than sustaining a false hope in others.

Neither Giles nor Wesley looked up as she took her position at the table.

She had not expected them to.

* * *

The full moon hangs above the sloping roofs of the tall, sturdy buildings, its faint silvery light reflected weakly in the open shutters. Puddles of rainwater lies scattered across the tarmac, caught between the thin strips of water that carve angles between the pavestones of the narrow alleys that winds their way upwards, like a cobweb whose strings are laden with pearls of dew in an early morning of spring.

No light shines from the houses as he passes. The lampposts stand tall, dark and silent, like lonely giants, at every crossroad.

The town is dark.

Silent.

Dead.

He turns down a narrow alley that cuts between buildings like a boundless chasm through a barren wasteland.

He pauses in his path before a house whose door is opening onto the alley, beckoning for him to enter. And from within comes the sound of struggling.

No voices reaches his ears, but a splintering of wood and the heavy thump of bodies colliding with floor and walls makes him peer into the darkened room.

Moonlight reflects fleetingly in strands of blonde hair as a young woman leads a vampire around the room in a strange dance of hits, punches and spinning kicks. He watches silently from the door.

Suddenly the vampire charges at her and they crash against the floor in a flurry of flailing arms and kicking legs; in one of her hands the girl wields a wooden stake, its smooth surface momentarily catching the soft light of the moon before the demon delivers a back-handed blow to her wrist that sends the weapon flying from her grasp.

Angel cries out and charges through the open doorway – but feels his body smash violently against the invisible wall that cruelly denies him entry. Buffy struggles against the demon's firm grip as it calmly positions its body on top of hers, its grasp on her wrist forcing her arms down at her sides. It presses its lower body against hers as it lowers its face, fangs barred in a triumphant leer.

Screaming, Angel flings himself once more at the open doorway and as it strikes back at him with supernatural force, he feels his head swim as though he had been struck across the face with a sledgehammer.

Her face is pale as she turns her head to look at him with eyes that are glossy with fear. He presses the palms of his hands against the wall, shallow breaths surging through his body. And then the vampire's teeth sink into her neck and she goes quiet while he screams, screams until his throat is torn and shredded and his hands are bleeding from pounding against the invisible barrier.

* * *

Disorientated, Angel shot into a sitting position, lashing out at the person who was shaking him by the arm and feeling the back of his hand connect with a face before he darted to his feet. Panting hard, he shook his head as a dark, unfamiliar room shifted into focus.

Images sped through his mind, real and imaginary, and he remembered.

_Only a dream. _

_Book. _

_Helhesten _

_Giles. _

_Buffy. _

A hand reached up behind the bed and Buffy pulled herself on her feet, her left hand softly massaging her jaw bone.

_Oh God, I hit Buffy. _

'Ow,' she said, a playful smile on her face. 'Didn't your mom ever tell you it is indecent to punch poor, defenceless women?'

The dying Buffy in his dream flashed before his eyes as he blinked, and he stared intensely at the Buffy in front of him. She looked alive and well and her jaw was not even bruising. He let out a shaky breath of relief.

'Are you okay?' She sounded concerned and his eyes flashed to her face. She looked it too.

'Aah...' he said, struggling to find his voice.

'Okay, not exactly the response I was fishing for here.' She sat down on the bed. 'Do you always sleep so badly?'

'Lately.'

Buffy nodded as if he was telling her something she already knew. 'Must have been some dream, huh?'

There was no denying that.

'God, I think the entire street heard you,' she said and smiled at him.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled.

'Oh for God's sake!' she cried and Angel stared mutely at her angry face. 'Could we try and have a conversation where 'I'm sorry' is not the only input from you?'

Angel realized he had opened his mouth to apologise and shut it again. 'Yes,' he said instead.

'Right. Well, I just wondered whether you would join me for a nice midnight stroll around this beautiful city's arguably less beautiful cemeteries for a demon hunt.'

He tilted his head and the light that spilled through the half-open door from the lamp that burned in the corridor fell across the side of his face and his dark eyes glowed.

Buffy felt her breath hitch in her throat.

'So,' she said, her voice slightly hoarse. 'You wanna come?'

He shrugged nonchalantly. 'Why not?' He did not sound as utterly lost this time. 'Not much else to do right now.'

'Well, not unless you count the immeasurable joy of mulling through smelly old books with Thomson and Thompson providing truly un-riveting background commentating.'

He smiled. 'I'll take the cemeteries.'

'Wise choice,' she said and bounced to her feet. 'You better put some pants on or someone might start thinking something.'

Even in the sparse light of the room, Buffy could see the flustered expression that crossed Angel's features and she was unable to stop the smile that spread across her face.

It did not take Angel long to pull into his black pants and fling a black jacket over a clean shirt. Buffy was beginning to wonder how he had managed to make room for so many of those and had reached the conclusion that Angel possessed more talent in the art of packing that she was ever likely to; though maybe that did not say much.

It was Friday night and in a rare state of humanity Giles had allowed Willow and Kennedy to take the night off, provided that they would work through the weekend. Seeing that they usually did that anyway, it was not a far stretch.

Wesley had been submerged in some texts on Viking folklore, which had made Buffy suspect he was worming out of his duty as premium researcher; Giles had not looked up from the book in hours, not counting the moment he felt a necessity to shout at Xander for nearly overturning his book-filled closet, and Buffy and Xander had been busily searching for any mentioning of a Helhest, when Angel's scream had cut through the routine and Buffy had darted to his room, glad for the interference.

The room looked as she had left it, apart from the fact that the mug before Giles was now empty, and Wesley had changed the Viking book for another with pictures of wolves, snakes and an eight-legged horse that bore more resemblance to a goat.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and walked to the weapon's cabinet. 'Angel and I are giving the donkey a run for its money,' she announced, earning a hard glare from her ex-Watcher as she pulled the doors open. Surveying the weapons before her for a moment, Buffy pulled out a broad sword and a couple of knives, handing some to Angel who accepted them in silence and proficiently strapped them onto his belt. 'We should be back before dawn. If not, don't come looking for us.'


	8. Purgatorial Shadows

Chapter 7: Purgatorial Shadows

Warning: Violence

Author's thanks at end.

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'Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?

Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,

Drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish,

Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?

Stroke on stroke of pain – but what slow panic,

Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?

Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms

Misery swelters. Surely we have perished

Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?'

- Wilfred Owen, 'Mental Cases'

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It was after midnight and the roads, streets and alleys of the capital had at last been deserted but for the odd plastic bag that rushed across the cobblestones and the tarmac when the night wind tugged at it.

The vampires seemed to have followed the livings example and not a single demon did they meet as they patrolled the cemeteries, searching for the stupid demon that had proved to have quite some talent for getting lost. Angel had taken the sword and the knives, so she only had to carry stakes and a crossbow. He walked silently beside her, never a whole stride away but not touching either. Buffy pretended not to notice as she filled him in on the favourite haunts of the Italian un-life, and he listened but never spoke, and she began to wonder whether the whole honest-and-touching-reunion moment was something she had dreamt.

'- and then they decided to take on the restaurant down that street, and there were a dozen or so vamps and Kennedy was late as usual, so of cause I had to clean up the mess and keep the stupid tourists out of the way. The police had a tough time covering it all up...' she trailed off. Sauntering around graveyards with a silent Angel at her heels was stirring old and repressed memories, which she really did not need in that moment. She whirled on him, and he stopped so swiftly he almost fell over to prevent himself from running into her.

'So?' she said and stared expectantly at him.

Angel blinked. ''So' what?'

She threw out her arms. 'Do you see anything?'

Angel's eyes darted from her face to the dark church and back. 'No.'

Buffy pushed past him. 'Well, good, I say we check out another one then.'

Angel called after her. 'Buffy, wait.'

And her legs stopped and though her head was screaming at them to move, they did not listen. She turned around. Angel was not looking at her, but turning his head slowly from side to side like a hound scenting a fox.

'He's dead,' he said quietly.

Buffy stepped closer, the perplexity she felt sneaking into her voice. 'Who?'

Angel blinked and looked up as though he saw her for the first time. 'I - I don't know.'

She looked at him.

'Okaay, you're weirding me out.'

Angel turned and drew nearer to the church and she tailed him, unsure what to make of this new turn of events. Then suddenly Angel was no longer walking but staring down at something in the entrance to the church, and she peeked past him.

For only to wish she never had.

'Eeew! Is that another one of our nice little demon-thingy's victims?'

Something twitched in Angel's face. 'Some of him,' he said.

The corpse was half-burned, the black fingers curling stiffly inward towards the palms and the skin had been ripped clean of the head to leave a bloodied skull behind. For a second Buffy was thankful that the eyeballs were gone before feeling extremely nauseous that she was capable of thinking like that.

'Ew, why are demons always so yucky?'

Angel did not answer but bent his knees into a crouch to survey the corpse at a closer distance. Well, he was welcome. Buffy saw perfectly well standing.

'It's fresh.' Angel stood up again; completely oblivious to the appalled look Buffy shot him. 'Which means the demon can't have gone far.'

Buffy looked up at him. '_Ew_,' she repeated dryly.

It was a cloudy night and the warm autumn air was heavy in her lungs. They would probably have rain later, Buffy thought as she laid her head back to stare at the dark, starless sky above her. Angel's eyes were darting alertly from shadow to shadow, as they left the larger street to turn down an alley that wound its way past small shops whose neon signs spat synthetic lighting across the tarmac.

He was following the demon's trail and Buffy wondered whether he could smell the demon itself or the rotting stench of its victims. Though maybe there was no distinction between the two points...

They found themselves in open ground as the narrow road opened onto the parking lot of a blacked out and gloomy office block. A rusty lock hang before the closed doors, windows had been destroyed and where the paint did not peel of the walls they were covered in graffiti. The tarmac was fractured and yellow grass had spread across it from the cracks.

Buffy whistled. 'I think I'm gonna come back here for my holiday. Must be a notch up from the Bates Motel, don't ya think?'

Angel turned to her, deep shadows covering his face. 'Take this,' he said, and shoved something cold and smooth into her hand. A bottle.

She glanced at his back as he stepped away from her. 'And what exactly am I supposed to do with it?'

He did not turn around. 'Empty it in its ugly face, if you get the chance.'

Buffy looked down at the bottle in her hand. Holy water.

Angel's boot connected with the lock, and it gave of a sharp crack before sliding to the ground with a rattle, as the doors fell inward. He stepped aside and Buffy peered into the darkness before her. Stepping over the threshold, thick, dry air slammed against her face; the smell of dust and abandonment. No light came through the tape-covered windows, and only a slim spectre of moonlight fell along the floor through the hole in the wall that had been a door only moments earlier.

Angel would probably have no problem whatsoever in seeing where he placed his feet, but since Buffy did not have vampire-eyes or -vision, she was finding it slightly more tricky.

'I can't see very well.' Though her voice was a mere whisper, it rose like a shout in the silence of the room. The floor creaked and she felt Angel behind her.

'There is a door three steps to your right,' his voice whispered. 'I think there is a staircase behind it.'

Hesitantly she turned and had forced her legs into a walk, when her leg slammed against something hard and flat, probably an overturned filing cabinet and she stumbled. Immediately, Angel's hand closed around her shoulder and steadied her, though it was surprisingly hard to regain balance, when she could neither see the floor nor the hand, she had flung out before her to soften her fall. Buffy felt his fingers loosen their grip and before she knew it, she felt her own hand cover Angel's, and as he lowered his hand she followed, their fingers slowly, uncertainly, entwining.

She sidestepped whatever she had run into and, her arm outstretched, she stepped forward, feeling a smooth surface brush against her fingertips. _The door._

Not bothering with fumbling for the handle in the darkness, Buffy simply kicked it in.

'Has it been through here?' Buffy asked into the darkness.

'I think so,' came the hushed answer.

'How do you know?' She was still holding his hand, and she could not agree with herself on whether that made climbing a flight of stairs you could not see harder or easier.

'The door was half-burned.'

So that was why it had been so easy to mow down.

'Why would it come this way?'

'I don't know.'

'OK, I'm taking this one on faith.' She hoped he could hear the smile in her voice. And then she ran her toe into the edge of a step and was for a moment quite willing to believe its squeamish insistence that it was broken. 'Ouch!'

'Are you all right?' Judging by the sound of his voice, she had done a pretty good imitation of being murdered.

'Yeah,' she mumbled, slightly ashamed, 'someone had just planted a step where my toe obviously shouldn't have been.'

There came a weird sound from him and she realised with a tingle he was chuckling.

'Hey! It's not funny!' And she was smiling herself, not that he could see it.

'I'm sorry,' he said, no longer laughing quietly.

'Ah-ah, you promised.'

Angel was quiet for a short moment. 'Yes, I suppose I did,' he said pensively. 'No, more apologising tonight.'

'Unless I start being really stroppy and unreasonable, then you can try with an apology and see if it makes it any better.'

'Don't tell me you're _ever_ stroppy and unreasonable!' Angel's finger jabbed her in the back in jest.

'Rarely, and then it is usually because I have been pulled out of my bed to go demon hunting around dark and dank abandoned buildings.' Buffy was beginning to believe this stairway was Rome's answer to Babylon's tower. God knew it went on long enough.

'It could have been dankier,' Angel argued.

'Dankier...' Buffy repeated, tasting the word. 'Is that even a word?'

'What?'

'Never mind.'

x

The stairs did not go all the way to the sky but it was a damn good call.

Buffy stood beside Angel, staring out of the shattered window of the abandoned loft; the nearest buildings were all shrouded in a cloak of darkness that seemed to swallow all light from the surroundings areas of the city. Diffusing rainbows of neon signs shone through the darkness and yellow lights were flashing through the gloom as vehicles swung around a corner in the streets below.

Their mountain-climbing had been slowed by Angel's insistence upon running his hand along the wall to feel for any marring in the surface or for possible doors. Finding neither, they soon found themselves a good sixteen floors above street level, in a messy loft where such a large variety of mess could be found it could easily compete with most dumps.

Buffy cast an unimpressed glance around her. 'Please enlighten me: how wasn't this a good royal waste of time?' Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness and she could now see the wooden boards she placed her feet upon. Considering the condition of said planks, she wondered whether that was an asset at all. 'Are you sure this can actually support our weight? I mean,' she put slight pressure on her right leg and the floor groaned. 'It doesn't sound too healthy, does it?'

She saw Angel bow his head.

'Wood,' he said in a flat voice.

'Yeah, I know.'

And suddenly he jerked at her hand with such force she almost keeled over.

'We're leaving!'

Buffy saw Angel freeze, his outstretched fingers a mere inch from the door that had slipped shut behind them. And as she lowered her gaze, she saw why.

Between the door and the floor, thick black smoke was sweltering into the room, rising before them and Angel staggered backwards, pulling her with him. She felt his grip on her hand tighten painfully, as his eyes swept through the room searching for another exit but finding none. Before she could find her voice, he stepped in front of her, blocking the rapidly rising fog from her view.

'Buffy, whatever happens, don't let him touch you. Don't let him get close enough for you to feel him, do you hear me?' And he shook her as though she was four years old again, but she was too shocked with seeing his fear to notice. 'And don't look him in the eyes,' Angel added as though some forgotten memory had sprung to life behind his eyes.

Then he whirled away from her, sword in one hand and bottle with Holy water in the other, and she saw. The blackness was twisting and turning, whirling about the three legs that rose from the opaque smoke to a skeletal body, and a long, thin neck, too frail-looking against the white skull that swayed softly from side to side at the end of it. Buffy remembered Angel's words and looked away from its grotesque face, instead fixing her eyes on the three legs as Helhesten took a wobbling step towards her.

_I have to tell Giles this. I think we've finally found something that moves slower than his car. _

Positioning the crossbow upon her shoulder, she released the bolt, and the arrow sped through the darkness, through the demon's solid form and struck the wall behind it. So crossbows were a big no-no with things like this and, she quickly found, as were wooden stakes. It took yet another hobbling step forward and the floor caught fire where it passed, the red tongues of the flames hungrily licking at the rotting wooden beams that whimpered underneath its weight.

In a flurry of dark clothing, Angel flung himself at it from the shadows and a hoarse, wheezing screech escaped the creature's pallid jaws as it recoiled, steam rising slowly from the spot where the bottle had shattered, all too quickly engulfed by the smoke that flailed at Helhesten's feet like a shawl of darkness. Before it had a chance to turn its ugly face her way again, Buffy hurled her flask at it and a second suffocated scream cut through the air, though it was more likely to be of anger than anything else.

It lurched at her, suddenly moving with a speed and agility she had believed it depraved of, and she scrambled backwards.

'Buffy!'

Jumping a pile of wooden boxes and darting around a pillar that materialized out of the darkness in front of her, Angel's roar reached her and she spun on her feet in time to see the blade reflect the faint moonlight as it sailed through the air, spinning, and she caught it adeptly. Not turning to see how close the demon was, she merely swung the sword and it hissed through the air in a graceless curve that still succeeded in blocking Helhesten's course and it withdrew from the blade's swinging path with an angry hiss.

Buffy lunged at it again but it dodged her blow; she saw the head swerve towards hers like an expertly swung club, but her arms responded to her brain's order too late and sharp pain exploded in her head before she lost consciousness.

Angel saw Buffy's body fly through the air and crash into a pile of wooden boxes and he did not hear himself scream. Something was pumping in his ears, drowning out all other sounds, as he took the last running steps that would bring him between the demon and her.

The white face was swaying at the end of the skeletal neck like a cobra before it strikes, and the white eyes searched the darkness blindly. Black smoke whirled at its feet; the single foreleg taking short jumpy steps forward though the demon never looked like as if it was out of balance.

Not pausing in his furious attack, Angel bent down to retrieve the sword from the floor at the demon's feet. Heat rose within his chest and he felt his face morph as an uncontrollable rage surged through his body. Helhesten's jaws clenched apart but before a sound could escape it, Angel smacked the metal blade across the skull and Helhesten's face snapped backwards with a satisfying crack of broken bones. Angel brought the sword down upon the side of its face again and again and the demon struggled to regain its footing, staggering backwards until its body was pressed against one of the pillars that cut through the room from the floor to the ceiling. Not pausing in his movement, Angel brought the blade horizontal and stabbed it clean through the demon's neck, feeling the point impale itself in the wooden beam. A shiver ran through it and along the blade, before the body stiffened and grew still.

The black fog whirled angrily at his feet and Angel hastily staggered backward. The front leg was submerged in the smoke that seemed to be climbing upwards along its still limbs and a single white eye stared emptily and accusingly at Angel. A strange sensation growing around his midriff, Angel spun on his feet and ran towards Buffy's still form, when a hollow thump seemed to echo within his head and he froze. Turning slowly, Angel saw the sword blade glow white-hot before it crumbled and shattered to the floor in a rain of blackened shards. Ever so slowly, Helhesten's face turned to him and it took a hesitant step nearer.

Angel scattered backwards and he heard the demon go into a hobbling canter behind him. He seized Buffy's body in a rough grasp and without glancing back, he ran for the door.

Helhesten was following in its shadow form, slipping from one patch of darkness to another and the irregular beat of its hooves clattering against the floor grew strangely light and distant, though Angel knew it was near. When he was a mere yard from the door it caught fire.

Red and orange fingers clawed at the wood and the sharp glow fell across Buffy's pale face. Angel pressed her face into his jacket to protect her from the flames, preparing to jump through, when Helhesten stepped through the burning door, slowly raising its head and Angel swore it was leering at him; the fire surged left and right along the walls, jumping to the heaps of wooden and cardboard boxes, to enclose them in a semi-circular inferno.

And despite the heat from the spreading fire that was mercilessly eating its way along the groaning floor, Angel felt cold as he realized there was only one way of escaping now. As Helhesten lunged for him, he spun on his feet without thinking and hugging Buffy's unconscious form tight against his chest, he leapt through the window, shards of the broken glass falling with him through the darkness.

The crackling noise of the flames died, replaced by the rushing of air flying past his ears as they fell. Angel had been chucked off enough buildings to know how to manipulate his weight in a fall and he tipped his shoulder slightly so Buffy was lying on top of him; he closed his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against his chest. He looked into the sky as they fell; the half-moon tilted its face to peek out from its spot behind one of the long streaks of light grey cloud, which hurried across the dark-blue orb. Beside him the dark wall of the tall building darted upwards, scuttling towards the starlit heaven above it.

And they fell.

Until his body suddenly went numb with the pain that exploded everywhere at once. He was not falling anymore but the world was swimming and someone was slamming a hammer against the back of his skull. He could still feel Buffy's body against his and her heart beat reassuringly against his passive chest. He tried to raise his head to see her but his body refused to move and bright fireworks exploded in the back of his head. His back, his hips, his chest, legs and arms and head, all seemed to be throbbing so violently he could not take his mind of the pain. Every joint was screaming at him that is has been dislocated, every bone that it was shattered. He grinded his teeth and told his body to stop being so squeamish. It did not work.

Through the darkness that swam before his open eyes, he heard her voice and he struggled back to the parking lot. His chest felt lighter and he realized that Buffy had slipped off him. He turns his head and the world swims before his eyes at the movement.

'Are you ok?' he croaked hoarsely. She was sitting beside him on the wet tarmac.

Wet.

It was raining. Funny, that. He had not even realized.

She was pale and her blonde locks were dark with water, strands of hair sticking to her cheek like a delicate cobweb, and a thin trail of blood was streaming from her split eyebrow. She nodded and although it was dark he could see her wince.

'I'll be fine.' He looked searchingly at her face, not believing, but she avoided his eyes. 'What about you?'

Air was hissing in and out of his passive lungs in his attempt to dull the flaring pain. 'I don't know,' he replied honestly, forcing his protesting body into a sitting position. With every word something pounded within his ribcage and he placed his hand upon his chest. 'Some broken ribs, I think.' He moved his shoulder slightly and sharp pain shot through his brain. 'And the shoulder's a bit prickly, but it's always been a hypochondriac, so don't worry.'

Buffy bit down on her lower lip and raised her face. The fire at the top floor was merely an orange glimmer against the dark night sky. She flinched slightly as the rain fell into her eyes. 'Did you jump out?'

He nodded, wincing at the movement. She looked down at her soaking trousers and then back up again.

'You know, girls are real easy to impress these days. You don't have to get yourself pummelled to ash-tray fodder to do it.' There was a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. 'I guess it was a good thing I was out cold because I'm not that good with heights. The demon?'

Angel struggled into a sitting position, careful not to place too much weight on his right hip. 'Can you say 'got away' if I was the one who ran from the fight?'

'I don't know. Let's ask Giles to consult his books about that one when we get back.' Buffy's brown eyes shone with concern. 'Can you walk?'

He offered her a coy half-smile. 'I could fly, couldn't I?'

She smiled back. 'At least until there was a parking lot in the way of further downward mobility, yes.'

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A/N: Thanks to my reviewers, AngelicDreams, nimwen, legolasgal, spangelover, Wesfan1234, CF, Gwenyer, a2zmom, DDuck and Tariq. Without your support this would never have seen the light of day but would have been forever stuck in that dark and scary place that is my mind1

Please review, next chapter will be up in a day or two :-)


	9. Angels of Death

Chapter 8: Angels of Death

Warning: Violence and disturbing themes

Author's thanks at end.

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'For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd;

And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.'

- George Gordon Byron, 'The Destruction of Sennacherib'

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If it had not been for Buffy's slayer strength, then Angel would have had to spend the remainder of the night lying on his back on the rough tarmac, while large rain droplets fell around him, soaking both him and Buffy to the skin.

They staggered into the study, half-leaning, half-supporting each other's reeling bodies. Giles looked up and his face paled.

'Good God, what happened?'

Wesley's eyes rose from the open book before him and he too got to his feet to help them to the couch. Angel noticed that Buffy winced as she slumped down beside him.

'You have to lie down,' he said in concern, 'he touched you.'

'I'm just dizzy. I'll be all right.'

Spike had touched it and been cursed with the nightmares. Could the same thing happen with Buffy? It was not so much a touch as it was a hit and Angel did not know.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and he turned his head.

'Hi Will,' Buffy said.

'Hi Buffy. Hi Angel. How'd it go?'

'None of it worked.' Buffy snuggled closer to him and Angel swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

Giles looked nonplussed. Angel wondered whether that was because of what Buffy said or how she acted. 'I – I'm sorry?'

'None of it worked. Unless our mission was to find out how many ways we can piss off this thing, it was pretty pointless.'

Wes had returned to his place by the table. 'It is still at large?'

Buffy tilted her head slightly and Angel recognised the look she shot his friend. 'You catch on quick, don't you? This thing is nasty and it's out and about with precisely no intention whatsoever of being a good lil' demon and scram back to hell.'

Giles had taken his glasses off and his eyes were closed. 'It is as I feared.'

Xander leant back in his chair and waved the apple he held in his hand around in a flippant fashion. 'Is this the part where we put on horrified faces and go 'Oh no, Giles, please tell us how this demon is going to destroy the world while we can do nothing to stop it'?'

Buffy sat up straighter and Angel felt a pang as her comforting warmth withdrew with the movement. '_Please_ tell me you've got something on this thing, cos frankly, playing trial-and-error with it _is _quite tiring and I'm beat.'

Giles slipped the glasses back on his nose. 'Helhesten is not any other demon. Unlike the many, er, demon-hy-hybrids which you have come across such as -'

'Vampires and werewolves,' Angel said quietly.

'Er, quite,' Giles had the book back in his hand and was turning its yellowing pages as he spoke. 'Quite. Uh...unlike them, Helhesten has no earthly desires.'

'Like doughnuts and milky bars?' Xander suggested.

Giles ignored him. 'Like power and wealth. It–it revels in destruction and death alone, seeking to g-gain the soul that can never enter the underworld.'

At the mention of this, a forgotten memory played just out of reach, and Angel blinked. 'What?'

Wesley did not look up from the book. 'Helhesten is the wretched spirit of the horses that were buried alive in church grounds when the Churches were consecrated. It was a common practice in Scandinavia where the Vikings had for hundreds of years worshipped the Gods of Norse mythology, among them Odin, or as he would be known to you, Woden, and his eight legged horse, Sleipnir.'

Buffy pulled her knees under her as she sat on the couch. 'But this thing's only got three...?'

Now Wesley did raise his eyes. 'Please let me come to some sort of point here. The prophets and priests of Christianity sought to obliterate all worship of the Norse gods and since their horses were among the most important possessions of a Viking, it became custom to bury a living animal before the church.'

'Ugh!' Willow exclaimed, pulling a face.

Xander waved the apple core at the redhead. 'I think that sums it up quite nicely, Will.'

The chair's legs scraped along the floor as Wesley stood up. 'Now, in Norse mythology, horses have souls just like human beings. It is believed that a soul is denied entry to the World of the Dead if the body was given to the underworld whilst it was still alive.'

'So this creature is trapped between worlds,' Giles added, falling wearily into a chair. 'Cursed to forever walk this earth without rest, seeking the soul and the salvation that could finally give it peace, but which it shall never find.'

'Literally a purgatorial shadow,' Wes said.

An uncertain, anxious silence fell in the room.

'It spoke to me,' Angel said.

'What?'

'When?'

'In the nightmares. The first time was in the church, I think.' None of the others spoke. He thought back, biting his lip in concentration. ''Don't you see'...'

Buffy was watching him with a strange expression on her face. Wes stepped closer. 'What happened?'

Angel knew he meant in the dream since he and Spike had already given a detailed report of their meeting with Helhesten in the church. Yet, he was not too eager too reveal it; it felt too personal.

Giles was watching him with a cold and distant expression on his face. 'Angel?'

'I was human and I burned,' he explained tersely.

'Oh. The first time?' Giles repeated. 'It has happened again?'

Angel glared back at the old Watcher without answering and it was Giles who looked away.

'Guys,' the sofa sagged slightly as Buffy shifted her weight. 'This is not making a snippet of sense.'

Giles reached for his mug, but, after a quick inspection he placed it back on the table with a crestfallen expression on his face. 'On the contrary, this gives vital insight into the demon's mind and -'

'Giles,' Buffy said, a sharp note to her voice. 'This thing has an empty skull for a head. What would it think with?'

'Well,' Xander said, flinging out his arms in Angel's general direction. 'Lazarus there is technically dead, but that doesn't stop him from toddling about.'

Angel was pretty sure Wes saw the look he shot Xander, as the ex-Watcher quickly said: 'As we said, Helhesten's fury, spite and resentfulness has rendered it incapable of finding release in nothing but the death it spreads. It feeds of the souls of its victims, growing in strength until it will be able to draw the life out of you with a glance.'

'Time out!' Xander gave a nervous chuckle. 'This thing can kill you by looking at you? That's not fair!'

'Having been in pain for so long, it takes pleasure in other's pain and the pain it can inflict,' Wesley continued as though he had not heard Xander. 'It can read the fears of a person and is able to manipulate their minds when in a weakened state.'

Xander was smiling but Angel could sense his uneasiness. 'He is a queer fish, isn't he?'

'This is all kinda nice and comfy background info,' Buffy broke in. 'But let's face it, pretty useless too, huh? How do I kill it?'

For the first time Wes looked slightly flustered. 'Uhm, yes...'

'I believe we still have to find any such information,' Giles said.

Buffy raised her eyebrows before sinking back on the couch. 'Great.'

Wes caught Angel's eyes again. 'When he chose to speak with you, I believe he was trying to show you something -'

Angel nodded. He knew. 'Wanting something so badly it is killing you, but feeling it slip between your fingers like sand. Fading until there is nothing left but a forgotten dream, no matter how hard you tighten your hold.'

Wesley's face was an expressionless mask. 'Life,' he said flatly.

Buffy was very still beside him and Angel closed his eyes.

And there was the time with the mirror. He had suspected the ghost's intentions already then as he stared into the leering face of his own demon, into the darkness within his soul. Helhesten had shown him what he was, made him stare into the face he had never seen and never could be rid off, and in the church he had felt its despair and hopelessness as it showed him what he was never to gain, willing him to see himself and lose all hope. And maybe it was true. Maybe Spike was the vampire in the prophecy, maybe Angel had as little chance of regaining mortality as he had of learning to fly. But that did not mean he planned to give up, to wallow in self-pity while this thing went on a murdering rampage in its own search for feeling.

x

Angel limped up the stairs and into the spare bedroom, the broken ribs throbbing weakly for each hobbling step. In contrast, the pain in his right side was now so sharp he could no longer feel his leg, and he had a feeling that that was _not_ a good thing.

The door slipped shut behind him and he stood for a moment with his eyes closed, leaning his pounding forehead against the cool surface. Buffy had not wanted him to look at the cut the scrap with the demon had left upon her left brow, but stubbornly insisted it was nothing and she was quite able to clean it up herself. Knowing that arguing was going to accomplish nothing, Angel had fallen silent.

He sighed.

His right shoulder screamed in protest as he pulled the shirt over his head. In the area around his collarbone, the skin was a canvas of red, purple and black nuances and swollen bruises criss-crossed across his chest where the broken ribs were slowly knitting back together.

He carefully slipped his trousers off, and clenching his teeth, he ran his fingers across his hip that had taken on the distinctive purple colour of a seasoned plum. As his fingertips explored the sore area, the sharp pins of fractured bone ran in jagged edges underneath the skin. Air hissed through his clenched teeth in pain and frustration.

Great. So he could not stand without it hurting, he could not sit without it hurting and he could not lie down without it hurting. The only good thing about this was that he had not been squeamish when he thought it was quite painful. He wondered how long he could hold onto that thought before its cheering-up factor dried out.

A timid knock sounded on the door.

He spun on his feet and winced as his hip protested against the movement. 'Yes?'

'Angel? Can I come in?'

It was Buffy. Angel glanced down his front, half-naked and only in pants. But he really did not want to try and pull the trousers back on again and it was not like she was going to see something she had not seen before. 'Yes.'

He watched in silence as her tiny, blonde form slipped into his room, closing the door after her. She had pulled her hair back in a pony tail and her slayer powers had kicked in so the only thing that was left of her bruise was a thin red line.

'I asked Giles and he doesn't think you can say something got away if you were the one who tucked tail and ran.' He saw her brows contract in worry, as her brown eyes travelled across his colourful chest. 'Oh look at you.'

'I know.'

Buffy stepped closer and ran a light touch over his collarbone. 'I think it's broken.'

Angel's mouth went dry as his gaze became lost in her beautiful face, mere inches from his. It tugged in his stomach as if he was falling again. He sucked in a nervous breath and stepped back.

'I'll be ok.'

A confused expression crossed Buffy's face, but she hid it as her eyes travelled to his broken ribs and hip. 'Yep, you look peachy.'

He ignored the snide tone. 'How are you?'

Buffy raised her face to look up at him. 'Peachy,' she said.

Angel sat down at the edge of the bed. Buffy stood for a moment in silence and he could feel her looking at him but he kept his head bowed. Then the mattress squeaked as she sat down beside him.

'Are there any open wounds?'

His eyes dashed to her face before he could stop them. 'No.'

He should have known her better than that.

'What about the gashes in your back? A couple of them have sprung open again and we really ought to clean them out. Maybe you don't get infections but it will really be much more hygienic that way.'

Angel could not help but smile at housewife-Buffy. It suited her. 'The first aid kit is in the cupboard.'

x

They had talked and it had felt good.

It had felt good, just talking about everyday things like Buffy's normal day, how she was finding life, that she was now being paid for taking out the vampires by a special branch in the city council and her newfound weakness for nocciola ice-cream. And Angel had told her more about his friends and his existence in LA, though he had omitted the small detail of a certain platinum-blonde vampire being very much alive.

Then she had turned to place the box back in the cupboard and fallen silent. A single bedside lamp was the only source of illumination in the shadowy room and its rich, orangey glow fell across her face, darkening her hair so it blazed like threads of copper and gold. The soft gleam caressed her tanned shoulders and caused deep shadows to fall between her shoulder-blades.

Without turning around, she spoke and her voice was barely more than a whisper.

'Why do we always do that?'

It did not sound like the kind of question you were supposed to answer. Uncertain, Angel rose from the bed and took a tentative step towards her.

She spoke again. 'Why do we always talk around stuff? I mean, it is always like we're just saying stuff to keep from saying what we really want to say...'

Buffy was still staring into the plain surface of the cupboard's door and Angel slowly closed his arms around her, feeling her sink back against him as her chest rose and fell with her shaky breaths. Her eyes were closed and he carefully rested his cheek against her hair. Warmth he had not known for a year erupted inside him and he wanted to sing and dance and scream. He closed his eyes and drew in a trembling breath.

For a moment they stood in silence, just feeling the nearness of the other and Angel thought he could have spend the remaining time of this world like that. The words left his mouth as the thought formed in his mind.

'God, I missed you.'

He felt her head move and his eyes glided open to find her hazel eyes staring into his. 'For how long?' she whispered.

Angel did not need to think too long about his answer. 'From the moment I left.'

She closed her eyes.

'Angel?' There was a strange urgency to her whisper. 'I thought you didn't.' Her head moved so the side of her face rested against his chest. 'I didn't understand why you would do something like –' _Wolfram and Hart_. '- I tried to imagine all these different reasons that would somehow justify it but I couldn't.' She paused. 'I am glad you told me.'

Angel felt his stomach tense involuntarily at this. _He had not told her. In the end he did not trust her enough to bare that last detail for her. _The thought was gnawing mercilessly at him and he did not know how to respond.

'You know why it scared me, you suddenly being a lawyer and evil and all?'

He thought he did.

'While everything changed around me and everything was so new and different, I was afraid that you would change too, that nothing in the world would ever be the same again.'

Angel cocked his head at this, not daring to believe what he thought she was saying.

'You know, I was really trying to move on with my life, stop behaving like the teenager I no longer was and start behaving like mature, responsible Buffy.' Even though she was standing with her back against his chest, Angel could feel the rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat. It felt good and familiar. Buffy shifted her head to glance up at him and in the dim light of the room her eyes sparkled. 'Do you remember the last time we saw each other?'

'Yes,' he whispered. How could he not with all the times it had haunted him in his dreams?

'You said you weren't getting any older.'

He remembered. That was before Wolfram and Hart, soulful-champion Spike and deals with warlocks; it was funny how many ways there was to age without any visible markings.

'It gave me hope. I forgot everything about being mature and responsible; I just wanted to be a regular girl again.'

Angel blinked. He failed to see just how those two fitted together. 'I don't quite follow...'

The light that fell across her skin shifted as her face split into a smile.

'It's good to see you _haven't _changed.' She snuggled closer to him. 'I wanted to be with you again, when sometime in the future we'd both worked out how this world works and that we'd seen all the aspects of vampire and demon slayage that are really worth seeing. The suburbia-placed slayer-vampire couple; kinda appealing, isn't it?'

Angel tried to smile back, though an uncomfortable emptiness was spreading around his midriff. He heard the sadness in her voice, though she did her best to hide it with a false light-heartedness, and realized with a pang she did not believe in the dream anymore.

'And we would have a nice white picket fence like they have in all the movies,' she said and leant the back of her head against his chest, her voice growing distant. 'And a yellow garden hose to go with it.'

'And a car with room for the children,' Angel added.

Buffy chuckled. 'You move quickly, don't you?' Then: 'How many?'

'Four.'

'Nah, too many.'

'Two?'

'Better. A boy and a girl...what should we call them?'

'Patrick and Keira?'

'Yeah, sounds nice.'

She felt silent, and Angel just stood, treasuring the warmth of her body and the smell of Buffy that went with it. He closed his eyes.

'Sounds nice,' Buffy repeated in a soft whisper and the sadness was unmistakable. When she spoke again her words were brisk and sharp, as though she hated having to speak them. 'It's strange, isn't it? That you can feel so alone it makes you sick deep within the soul and no matter what you do to feel warm and alive -'

'You still feel cold and empty inside,' Angel mumbled, feeling her take a deep breath.

'The world was ending and everybody was so scared. I died and came back and Spike understood because he felt the same pain, the same fear and he was just as terrified of being alone. But no matter what I did to feel warm, I was still dying inside, the world was still ending.' Her voice shook slightly. 'Spike died saving the world, Anya died saving the world and does the world give a damn?'

'No,' Angel said though he knew she expected no answer. She turned her fair head and her eyes bore into his.

'Then you took over Wolfram&Hart. And I didn't believe – didn't understand. It frightened me – everything was changing, disappearing, crumbling – and suddenly you were slipping away too. And I knew you still had your soul and somehow that just made it worse because you couldn't do something like that and be Angel. Somehow I had always expected you to stay the same, always be there even when I couldn't see you, didn't need you.'

Something was prickling behind Angel's eyes. 'It's okay...' he whispered, leaning his cheek against her silken hair.

'I don't want to lose you again.'

'You never will. I'm right here.'

Buffy tilted her head so she could look up at him. 'I don't want to have to push you away again.'

Something in the way she said it...

'Do you want me to leave?'

She looked at him for a long moment before she raised a hand so her fingers could trail his cheekbone, softly, caressingly. 'No,' she whispered.

She closed her eyes again and Angel felt her press the back of her head against his chest, as though she never wanted to move again.

x

Kennedy woke to find Willow gone.

The room was dark; faint, green light fell upon the floor where the street's neon-light shone through the window. Cars chased by outside and rain drummed against the panes.

Kennedy sat up, her eyes scanning the empty room, gliding from the ruffled bed sheets to the half-closed door. There was a piece of paper on Willow's pillow. She rolled over to turn her bedside lamp on and rolling back, she grabbed the note and held it under the light.

_Hi Ken,_

_If you wake, don't be alarmed. Giles called and I had to leave, didn't want to wake you up since you looked so cute! Well, hope I'll be back before dawn._

_Love,_

_Will_

Kennedy sighed. So much for Giles' promises of free evenings. She had extended an arm to turn off the light when a strange noise made her freeze. Knowing too much about hellmouths and demons, she grabbed the stake from her bedside table and swung her legs over the edge of the bed; she slipped silently through the half-open door and found herself in the unlit corridor, facing the front door. It was rectangular and its wooden structure was surrounded by squares of semi-transparent panes, through which a ghostly silvery-blue light fell upon floor and walls.

Kennedy was about to check the kitchen when the door shuddered violently on its hinges. Raising the stake so it hovered above her shoulder, she stepped nearer and the door trembled again. She peered through the misty windows but could see nothing except the flashing lights of cars and the blue neon sign at the opposite side of the street.

The door was standing cold, flat and motionless before her, and her hand was an inch from closing around the copper doorknob, when shadows began to float into the corridor through the keyhole. She stumbled backwards in surprise, as she realized it was not shadows but dense black smoke.

Kennedy had listened closely enough to Angel's tales to know that this was not an ideal situation, so she did what she normally would never have done. She turned and ran.

Smacking and locking the door after her, she tore the phone from its position by the window sill. The shrill beeps that echoed through the darkness as she dialled Giles' number were followed by the hollow crashes that sounded from the hallway.

Beep.

_Please pick it up. _

Beep.

_Please._

Beep.

_Pick up the fucking phone!_

Bee-

'Rupert Giles residence, Xander Harris.'

Kennedy practically screamed into the phone. 'Pick me up on the corner. Your fucking demon is taking down my house!'

'Kennedy?'

'No, it's Santa Clause. Who the Hell do you think it is?!!'

She did not bother with hanging up but simply tossed the phone from her, and grabbing the window sill with frantic fingers she forced it open. Without looking back Kennedy jumped out into the night just as yet another crash rocked the walls, and she knew the demon had forced its way through the locked door.

Her knees buckled as she struck the tarmac but she forced her sleep-addled limbs into a run, and turning the corner of the building she could see the lights of the streets a mere twenty yards away. As she turned down the street, she did not pause to ponder the utter lack of traffic but ran, forcing her legs into a faster sprint, forcing her lungs to pump like a pair of bellows and ignoring that her bare feet were soon bleeding from running on the rough tarmac. Behind her an irregular drum grew louder, and in her mind a shrill voice was screaming how long it could take Xander to reach her.

Her panting had grown wheezy as she turned yet another corner, and for the first time she turned her head to look over her shoulder since the uneven drum had suddenly disappeared. Her eyes had only time to register a bare and deserted night-street when she tripped and tumbled to the ground. Kennedy was breathing raggedly, the painful gulps of warm, polluted city-air getting stuck in her throat and never reaching her lungs. She struggled back on her feet and would have screamed had she had the air for it.

Helhesten's blind, white eyes stared at her, unblinking, as it took the last limping hop that trapped her against the brick wall at her back. Long, thin strands of coarse hair fell along the ridged forehead from between the curving ears whose points almost met, and the white surface of the skull were littered by small dark plumages where patches of rotten flesh and hairs remained. It was so close she could feel the heat and smell the pungent stench of burnt, rotting flesh that swelled from it.

Then a hoarse, wheezy voice spoke and it reminded her of a man she had heard on television once. They had removed his voice box so the words escaped him slowly and painstakingly as he sucked the air inward.

'Don't you see?'

And suddenly she was no longer warm from the running, but cold, colder than she had ever been before and a long-repressed memory jumped to life before her eyes.

Her mom had said she was not allowed to play on the ice; it was still too thin and could not hold her. But she did not listen, she never listened.

Large gulps of icy water flows into her mouth and floods her lungs. She tries to scream and more water drowns out her voice. She cannot breathe, she cannot scream. She is drowning and nobody can hear her. Light shines silvery blue through the ice and she cannot see the darker patch where the surface has been broken. Icy water floods her oxygen-depraved brain.

She is drowning.

White light flashes before her eyes before everything goes black.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Long chapter this time...

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers who have been so faithful and patient with my snail-pacing :-)

Well, finally this story seems to be going somewhere so please review and let me know what you think!!


	10. Guilt

Chapter 9: Guilt

Author's thanks at end.

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'A prayer is not the road to salvation'

X

Angel bowed his head and felt his lips brush against Buffy's, uncertainly at first, questioningly, but then her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer and he leaned in, deepening the kiss. She smelled of summer rain and roses and early mornings in spring and he could feel the beat of her heart against his own, impassive chest. One of her hands ruffled through his hair, applying pressure to the back of his neck, and she snuggled closer to him, her lips softly, slowly, caressing his.

Then the door was flung open and they flew apart as if they had been electrified. His hip refused to support his weight and he collapsed across the bed. Wesley was standing in the door, too concerned about something to grasp what he had just interrupted.

'Kennedy just called. Helhesten went to their home, so Xander and Willow have left to pick her up.'

The light from the corridor fell across Buffy's face and Angel could see her pale. 'Oh God! I – I should have gone with them -'

Wesley saw her agitation. 'To do what?' he pointed out. 'Mr Giles and I have so far had no luck whatsoever in unearthing any kind of clues as to how this demon might be destroyed, and as you and Angel experienced tonight, ordinary weapons appear to have a limited effect on it.'

'If any at all,' Buffy muttered inattentively. The butterflies in her stomach were still doing their energetic jig with no intensions of calming down. She had kissed Angel, and it had felt like the right thing to do, felt natural.

She had kissed Angel. Again, one might like to add. Especially if one was Xander but considering he was away on a rescue mission, he had never to know.

A rescue mission, by the way, she ought to have been a commanding member of.

On the bed Angel was sitting up again following his stunt, which could have been extremely comical had the situation not been so dire. Buffy stepped closer to Wesley, who, judging by the expression on his face, was beginning to work something out. 'I have to talk to Giles,' she said, pushing Wesley out of the room. After a last glance at Angel who had not moved but was watching her intently, she followed the former Watcher downstairs.

x

Willow did not say anything as she sat at the table, her eyes staring emptily at nothing. She had cried; Buffy knew it even without seeing the redness around the dark and lifeless pupils. The colour of her skin was only matched by Xander's stone-face, and he too sat motionless, his breathing coming in short wheezy gasps.

First Anya and now this. Buffy wondered how much more he could take before he broke down completely. It was not his fault, and she had kept repeating those words until she felt, he at least began to doubt he was solely to blame for Kennedy's death.

But it was for Willow she worried. Xander had a natural optimism that would always see him through it in the end. Willow, on the other hand, thought too much and she needed someone to share the darkness and the fear with when Buffy could not be there. Someone who could stem the flow of fear and anger, all the pent-up emotions she was always trying so hard to hide. And now the ones Willow opened up to, trusted with the danger and the responsibility, were being picked off one by one, and they could do nothing but watch a cold mask of stone slip across their friend's face.

Giles was pale too, but his eyes shone with a fire, a glint that bordered on insanity. He said nothing but his fingers whizzed down the musty pages, pausing briefly at certain words and passages, which he copied into the small notebook beside him. Wesley and Angel were working through thick volumes with black leather-bound backs, frantically, unremitting, searching for the vital information that was nowhere to be found. The vampire blamed himself, Buffy knew it, could see it in his dark eyes as they skipped from passage to passage, never remaining in one place long enough to pause.

Buffy placed a mug before Xander and Willow, the latter never moving, but Xander shot her half-hearted attempt at a grin. Points for effort, though it came out more like a pained grimace. Buffy walked up to her friend and flung her arms around her in a slow, comforting hug. Underneath her arms, Willow's body tensed, but her head tilted to rest against Buffy's chest. Neither of them spoke; they did not need words to express what they thought and felt, and slowly Willow's rigid muscles relaxed in Buffy's embrace.

Buffy carefully pulled free and sat down beside the redhead, offering her a sad smile.

It was mid-day but the room was dark due to the thick curtains and rugs they had arranged before the windows to allow Angel to lend a hand researching; only a single window to the right of the couch had gone uncovered to allow a strip of sunlight to slip into the room along with a breath of fresh air. Or at least that had been the argument for opening it, but considering it was 32degreesCelcius outside with no wind and nothing but a stench of burned rubber coming through from the street, it was all pretty pointless.

Buffy decided to break the strained silence.

'Listen guys.' Five pale faces were turned her way. She took a deep breath and looked at Xander and Willow. 'I'm sorry but I think I'm going to ask you guys to skip town for a couple of days.' She felt herself pull a face as the words left her mouth; she was pretty sure she could predict their reaction.

And true enough:

'No, Buff, you can't do that!' Xander sat up straighter, an uncertain grin spreading across his face.

'If I'm to kill this thing, I can't be worrying about your safety at the same time,' Buffy argued.

Xander's expression was half-way between hurt and indignation. 'We're not dumb, unknowing teenagers anymore. Now we're dumb, slightly-more-knowing mature young people. We can totally do this thing!' Buffy could not help but admire his tireless attempts at cheerfulness, even if they all failed miserably.

Giles cleared his throat. 'I – I think I can see the reasons behind Buffy's suggestion -'

Xander cut him off. 'I don't want to sit around and wait while you give this damn thing hell,' he said brashly. 'And you don't know – you might need a witch before this is over.' He placed a reassuring arm around Willow's shoulders and Buffy was relieved to see that the distant expression on her friend's face had softened somewhat.

Giles had opened his mouth to object further when Willow spoke:

'I don't want to leave,' she said quietly.

Buffy shot her a concerned look. 'Will, maybe you shouldn't...'

The chair clattered to the floor as Willow jumped to her feet. Her stone-face had been replaced by a mask of fury. 'Shut up! I'm not going to loose control, okay? I know why you want me out of here: you're afraid I'm going to do something stupid and dangerous that could put us all in danger! And I'm not going to say I can control this thing because I know I can't, I can't do anything, so you can rest easily; Stupid Willow is not going to do something stupid like she always does!'

Buffy struggled to find her voice. 'No, Will, that – that wasn't -'

'So stop treating me like a child! Friends trust each other!' Her voice was shrill and her eyes had gone glossy. Buffy stood up so their eyes were level, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

'I do trust you, Will, and you know it. I'm sorry, but I can't protect you from this thing, and I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you... just like I won't ever forgive myself...for...what happened to Kennedy.'

Willow's shoulders trembled as quiet sobs shook her body and immediately Xander was by her side, his arms enclosing her shoulders in a calming embrace. Buffy could not hold her eyes up and her gaze dropped to the floor between her feet, as she sat back down in her chair. Willow's erratic breathing was loud in the strained silence of the room, and the only other sound was the occasional 'schh' and 'it's okay' from Xander.

She looked up as he spoke.

'Can we borrow your room?'

Buffy met his eyes and nodded.

'Thanks,' he mumbled and still with his hands on Willow's shoulders, he turned and led her to the staircase, which they mounted in silence.

A loud slam made Buffy jump in her seat and her gaze darted to the table, where Giles had slammed his book shut and was covering his face with his hands. Three chairs away Angel was staring stiffly at the table's smooth surface, his shoulders tense and his hands curled into fists. Wesley was turning page after page, his head bowed, until he suddenly sat up straighter with a triumphant: 'Ah!'

Buffy got to her feet. She was finding it hard to stand or sit still for longer periods of time. 'You've found something?'

Wesley cleared his throat and the hands slowly disappeared from Giles' face, as he looked up. 'Yes.' Wesley began to read from the book, his finger trailing the passages as his eyes passed over them. 'An old, drunken man met Helhesten outside a pub once and rode it home. He tethered it outside his door and fed it a bowl of oats, and when he woke up the next day there was nothing left of it but a shaving.'

Buffy stared incredulously at him. 'He didn't notice it didn't have a head?'

'Well,' Wesley said. 'He was drunk, but he lived to tell the tale.'

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. 'Your point being?'

'My point being there are ways to escape it,' Wes said.

'That's very nice, but I don't want to escape it, I want to kill it.'

'A shaving?' Giles was watching Wesley with a soft ridge between his brows. 'That's quite peculiar, isn't it? Was it the daylight that hurt it?'

A chair creaked as Angel sat up straighter, blinking. 'All the murders...they occurred after sunset. But I don't think it's because it shuns the daylight as such.' Angel lowered his eyes, avoiding Wesley and Giles' staring, as he fiddled nervously with the book before him. 'When Buffy and I ran into it this evening...' he trailed off and changed his approach. His gaze snapped up, his dark eyes drilling into hers. 'It was slow when it walked, wasn't it?'

Buffy was about to point out that it had moved quite quickly when it charged at her, when Angel spoke again, cutting her off.

'It was slow and laborious until its body was enveloped in shadow; it could move from shadow to shadow, not in physical form, but as a shadow itself.'

Giles leant back in his chair, a mesmerized expression on his face, and his eyes were wide in realization. 'Of course,' he whispered, 'But of course!' His voice took on the rich tone he used when he recited. ''And thou shalt tread the darkness and never see the light and shadows shall crown thee king.''

Buffy wondered whether she was the only one stuck in no man's land by this. 'Giles, explain.'

'Um, yes, sorry. I read it in the book but – um - assumed it to be a figure of speech rather...rather than the plain truth.'

'So it thrives in the darkness of the night,' Angel said, 'where the shadows are deeper and it can move with a greater freedom.'

'So, what? We attack it during the day where it can't move as quickly?' Buffy glared expectantly at Wesley, but it was Angel who replied.

'That would seem like the best strategy, yes.'

'With what?' she snapped.

Giles tilted his head. 'I'm – I'm sorry?'

'With what? What weapons do we attack it with? It was not because Angel and I had the greatest success rate on our last field trip.' But even as she said a thought sprung to life within her mind. 'The sword...' she mumbled inaudibly. Angel was looking at her and she knew he had heard her. 'The sword,' she said, louder this time. 'It recoiled for the sword.'

Wesley looked up. 'It did?'

'Yes,' Angel confirmed. 'It did. I think I broke its jaw.'

Giles leant forward in his chair. 'An ethereal being that was actually hurt by a physical weapon?' There was doubt in his voice but also something else, something lighter, tenser. Hope.

And that was something you could always trust Angel to spoil.

'No,' he said slowly, arduously, as though he was suddenly finding it hard to speak. 'It retreated for the weapon. It connected with its face and forced it back and I stabbed it through the neck. It stiffened, became still. I thought I killed it.'

Buffy suddenly noticed she had frozen in the middle of the floor. Angel's eyes found hers as if he was relating this to her and no one else.

'I hadn't. It burned the sword up. The blade glowed white-hot before it shattered with the strain and clattered to the floor in shards.'

Wesley's eyebrows shot upward at this, though it was in surprise rather than disbelief. 'If the weapon couldn't hurt it, why would it retreat for it?'

Giles were cleaning his glasses, and his face looked strangely tired and vulnerable without the accustomed steel frame resting upon the bridge of his nose. 'That is a good question.'

Wesley slammed the book before him shut before reaching for another. 'I was rather hoping you were going to answer it.'

'But it could hurt it, couldn't it?' Buffy stared at the three before her. 'I mean, technically a broken jaw does qualify as physical damage.'

Giles tired face met her eyes. 'Which sword was this?'

Buffy flung out her arms, gesturing as if to further her description of the weapon. 'A regular broad sword with two edges. We've got two more of them; I just snatched the one with the best balanced blade.'

'Which rules out mythical means as being the only way to hurt the demon,' Wesley said.

'And that is a good thing,' she pointed out.

'Wait a moment...' Giles straightened in his seat, a pensive expression on his face. He turned to Angel. 'Was this before or after it knocked Buffy out?'

Angel looked as perplexed as Buffy felt at this comment.

'After,' he replied, though he looked like he would have liked to add a 'why' on the end.

Giles' hand shot out and flung the book open before him, frenziedly turning page after page. 'You grabbed the sword after Buffy dropped it and swung it at the demon.'

Angel confirmed this remark by remaining silent. Giles went on.

'You must have been agitated, I believe.'

More silence.

'You attacked this creature in hate, which somehow enabled the sword to wound it; you thought you killed it and turned away, the rage now replaced by worry.'

'Yes,' Angel replied quietly.

'For some reason, whatever effect the sword may have had on it ceased the moment Angel's hate dulled to fear.' Giles nodded slowly for himself.

'Great.' Buffy smiled sardonically at her old Watcher. 'So all we need are people with swords hating it with passion. The last bit shouldn't be too hard.'

Wesley slowly leant back in his chair. 'Well, it certainly is a theory worth delving into,' he muttered.

'But where's the catch?' Angel got to his feet and began pacing. Buffy had the distinct suspicion that it was because he could not stand the accusing looks Giles shot his way. 'If all you needed to destroy this thing was for someone to hate it enough to go and chop its head off, wouldn't it have been done long ago?'

'Why was it released when you tried to burn the book?' Wesley said pensively and cut off any responses Angel's ponderings might have encouraged. 'If its spirit was imprisoned in it, couldn't it be done again?'

Giles' face took on the dark neutral look, he always used, when he was either furious beyond comparison or deeply disappointed. Somehow Buffy suspected it was the former this time.

'You tried to burn it?' His voice was cold. 'Even after you suspected that it might possess incomparable dark powers, you still tried to burn it?'

Angel met Giles' freezing gaze with dark determination. 'Then I especially tried to burn it.'

'Fast backwards to Wesley's question before you two put each other in the hospital,' Buffy said quickly. 'Is there a way for us to find that out?'

'Research?' Giles suggested wryly.

'You should get some rest.' Angel had turned to her and she saw the concern in his dark eyes. 'You haven't slept for close to two days...'

She felt like pointing out he had not eaten since he arrived, but thought the better of it. 'Someone's using my room,' she argued half-heartedly.

'Borrow mine,' he said. She was pretty certain the glint in his eyes was not a fidget of her imagination.

'My room,' Giles corrected sourly, obviously seeing this as a breach on his rights as the legal owner of the house.

'Someone's getting crappy. Maybe they also need to get some rest.' Buffy gave the older man a soft pad on the shoulder as she passed on her way to the stairs. Behind her, she heard Angel order Wesley back to the hotel to get some sleep as well.

'I'll do the research,' his voice promised. 'It's not like I need the sleep in the same way as you do.'

x

The dull rhythm of footsteps from above gradually dissolved into nothingness and silence fell in the room. Angel sat motionless in his chair, staring into the air before him though his dark eyes saw nothing. A deep-ridged frown played on his brow and the muscles in his neck stood out as were they tightly knitted ropes that played just beneath the skin. Through the window came the constant rumble of passing traffic and the occasional squeak of a tyre; the sunlight fell, bright and colourless along a thin strip of floor, passing a couple of inches from the chair's legs.

He had killed a young girl.

He knew Giles blamed him. He was sure Xander would blame him. He did not know what Buffy thought or if she thought anything at all.

And Willow – Willow, who had been the only one to not display an open desire to shove a wooden stake into his heart upon seeing him, who had defended him against the others any chance she got...and how he had repaid her.

He felt sick. It was his fault that Kennedy had died; he knew it and saw no reason to justify what had happened.

He had sensed Wesley's presence even before he spoke.

'It is getting out of control.'

Angel did not answer; that comment did not necessitate his agreement. The Watcher was leaning casually against the wall behind him.

'I don't want to put them in any more danger, and I know you don't want that either.'

He was beginning to sound irritated with Angel's lack of participation in his attempt at making mature conversation.

'If we can't endanger Buffy or Willow by putting them in Helhesten's path, we will need backup.'

Angel knew where this was going, but he did not object.

'I'm calling Spike.'

For a moment Angel sat as still as had he been of stone. Then he bowed his head, his eyes closed, and Wesley knew he had consented.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

**Author's Thanks to: **nimwen, AngelicDreams, Wesfan1234, a2zmom, DDuck, CF, Gwenyer, legolasgal and Tariq for reading and supporting. I hope you are still with me...;-)

**A/N: **I bet you realized this was a hard chapter to write. People respond so differently to grief and it is hard to convey when you also have a story to tell. But hey, it got me to the place I wanted to be: in a position to bring Spike back into the mix....


	11. Choices

Chapter 10: Choices

Author's thanks at end.

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'Choice has always been a privilege of those who could afford to pay for it.'

- Ellen Frankfort

X

The radio was on and a ruffled Italian voice cut through the room, frightfully revealing the death of five people the previous night and one the very same morning. Counting Kennedy that made seven, and thus the civilian count was already larger than Angel should have liked.

It was early evening and dusk was in the air. For the last half hour and counting, Buffy had been on the phone with the local council, and though Angel found her Italian vastly improved, the conversation still demanded heavy repetition on her front. Still, he suspected that the denial factor played in there somewhere.

There had been no sign of either Willow or Xander and Angel did not know whether to feel relief or worry at this. Giles was turning page after page in a frantic and hassled manner, sweat springing on his brow in his desperate search for any useful information among the 'shit-load of gibberish' as had been his own words upon entering the room an hour earlier. Wesley was walking to and from the adjacent study, always a book in hand, which he more often than not would dump on the table under Angel's nose.

Following their somewhat one-sided conversation earlier, neither of them had mentioned their bleached blonde friend again and Angel was relieved of it, though he knew he would have to talk to Buffy about it sooner rather than later.

The despairing tone in Giles' voice cut through his brooding.

'Oh God!'

'What?'

Wesley came marching into the room but looked up upon hearing Angel speak. 'What?' he echoed.

In response Giles looked up at Angel, his eyes hard. 'Helhesten can shift between being insubstantial and of physical form, correct?'

'Yes,' Angel acknowledged, wondering where this was going.

'According to these texts,' Giles tapped a single finger upon the yellowing pages, 'Helhesten will be reawakened in its shadowy form. In its search to regain the lost souls, it will burn the soul out of its victims until it reaches the state where it can shift between a ghostly spirit and – and a physical demon.'

'Which it has now accomplished,' Wesley said ponderously, slumping down in the chair next to Angel's.

'Yes,' Giles said, 'but the demon will not stop. It will persevere with it's – it's murderous pursuit until it can no longer change the complexity of its being. It will, in other words, be stuck in physical form and -'

'We could kill it,' Angel finished dully.

'Exactly.'

Wes jumped to his feet and had taken two steps away before he spun on his heel, walked back to the table and slumped down in his chair once more. 'All that is necessary is to give it time enough...' he murmured.

Angel fiddled absent-mindedly with the book before him, his muddled thoughts running in smaller and smaller circles. 'No,' he said.

He could feel the two ex-Watchers' gazes burn a hole in his forehead.

'No,' he repeated. 'That won't do.'

He knew they exchanged a look but he told himself he did not care.

'Angel.' Wesley used the same tone as he would opposite a child who claimed that two and two made thirteen. 'The only other possibility would be to attack it randomly or to search for ways to trap it in the book once more -'

'Then we will do that,' Angel said decidedly.

'Though the chances of success in such a scenario are slim to nonexistent?' Giles flashed him that standoffish look that could drive anybody insane.

'Even if the chances of success were nonexistent.'

'You think that fewer people will die if you go and get pummelled by this thing?' Wesley glared at him but Angel met his gaze unblinkingly. 'Let's just assume – assume – that we succeed in trapping it in the book again, it will only be temporarily. Moreover, there are no records of anyone having ever succeeded in killing Helhesten, so we wouldn't know whether it would work at all.'

'But it could,' Angel argued stubbornly.

'Theoretically, yes,' Giles admitted, 'but on the other hand, virtually everything is possible in theory.'

'And -' Wes began.

'Look, Wes, I can't sacrifice people like that!' Angel shot his friend a desperate look. 'I can't look at the situation and think that yes, the demon will kill twenty people but waiting with killing it might save another fifteen. I can't!'

Giles sighed in agitation. Angel ignored him.

'Not when there is a chance that I might be able to stop it, and if it takes me with it, well, then that's how it must be. You say you don't know what will happen if we try to take its head off. Well, there's a lot we don't know. How powerful it is going to be when it regains physical form is another. I can't risk it. Choice is just a privilege I don't have this time.'

Angel kept eye contact with his friend until Wesley looked away with a soft sigh.

'Okay,' he said. He got to his feet, picking up the book that lay flung open at Angel's left hand. 'Mr Giles and I will continue the research and hope and pray that something will turn up that could prove of use.'

'Thanks,' Angel said and meant it. Pushing the chair out, he got to his feet and walked to the stairway. The fact that some outlandish demon was on the loose did not mean the vampires and the remainder of the Italian underworld, literally taken, took a vacation, and seeing that he had no intentions of letting Buffy patrol as long as Helhesten was out and about, he had decided to take the hunting gig.

Angel paused before the plain façade of the closed front door, busily stuffing his waistband and the pockets in his black jacket with stakes, knives and phials containing holy water.

'So, are you jumping ship?'

He spun on his feet. Buffy stood in the door leading to the study, her blonde locks pulled back in a tight pony tail and her face was pale. She had flung her arms around her upper body in a hug and her brown eyes searched his face questioningly, a hesitant, tense, edge to her voice.

'Thought I'd be of some use and take the patrolling tonight,' he said. She nodded, biting her lower lip uncertainly. Something in his stomach was squirming uncomfortably. 'I'm sorry.'

Buffy's gaze darted upwards and met his again. 'I know,' she said.

'I – I didn't mean to -' It was important that she understood this. 'I would never hurt Willow or Kennedy...'

She stepped closer, tilting her head back to look up at him. 'I know,' she repeated, softer, trustingly.

Angel swallowed. He had to tell her...

'There's something you have to know -' he began but was cut off by Giles' bellow from within.

'Coming,' Buffy shouted back, turning her face back to Angel's. 'What?'

The words were darting to and fro within Angel's mind, refusing to be strung together in a sensible sentence. Spike was alive, or well, un-dead, and was coming to help them fight Helhesten, Angel had known this all along though he had not told her when she had been so honest with him; the person who lost his sanity was his son, whom he had pretended did not exist when talking to her, and yes he knew it was wrong but he had still lied to her. He wondered how she would react if he rambled that off.

'I'm sorry,' his mouth said again, and his legs turned and took him out into the night, whilst his head spun and surged with all the things he had once again left unsaid.

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The vampire's body slammed against the brick wall and stone fragments and dust rained down over them. Angel's arm shot out to block its punch and he brought his knee up into its crotch. It hissed in pain, its clenched fist flying wide of his face and he spun on his feet, delivering a violent kick that sent the demon scrambling into the wall at the opposite side of the alley.

Something in Angel's head was spinning and he could not seem to focus on the fight at hand. The burning anger and frustration he felt at himself was making him punch and kick harder than usual, delaying the moment where he would shove his stake into the other vampire's chest and the fight would be over and he had not given vent to the raging fury within. His barely healed shoulder throbbed with each sudden strike and his hip was screaming at him, but he closed his mind to it, revelling in the pain that pounded through his body. He had even allowed his opponent to land a couple of punches across his face, willing the pain to distract his thoughts from the sickening realization of what his coming there had resulted in...that he had killed Kennedy. He wanted the rush, the pain, wanted instinct to take over and drown out the immense self-loathing and disgust that swelled inside him, screamed at him and clouded his thoughts.

As the vampire struggled to regain its footing, Angel stepped closer, flicking out a wooden stake from his belt, and he had raised his arm for the blow when something slammed violently against the back of his skull and he stumbled.

Whirling his body around, a second blow struck his jaw and his hip collapsed under the pressure, sending him crashing to the ground. Trusting his instinct rather than his vision, which was still too blurred to show anything more distinct than blotches and slightly darker blotches, he rolled away and the dustbin that had been thrown at him shattered against the tarmac. Darting to his feet, he surveyed the three vampires, two males and a female, that circled him warily, unarmed but for the piece of wood one of them wielded as a homemade stake.

Without as much as a growl he charged at them, soundless and lethal, and the small male crumbled to dust with a yell that was drowned out by the black-haired female's furious scream. She lashed out at him, her nails leaving four bloody trails down Angel's cheek and he growled, feeling his forehead stretch as he morphed. He swung at her but she dodged his blow and the male used Angel's momentary inattention to deliver a ferocious kick to his face. Angel reeled as the alley disappeared in swimming darkness and flashing lights, but swiftly jumped aside as a hissing sound reached his ears and the vampire's rough stake grazed his shoulder, its wielder thrown off balance by his missed thrust. Closing his grip on the smooth wooden object, Angel shoved his stake into the vampire's chest and it gasped in pain before its form dissolved in a grey cloud of ash and dust.

Raising his eyes Angel looked at the female, whose yellow eyes widened in fear and anger. Then, moving ever so slowly, she bent down and retrieved the piece of wood from where the other vampire had let it fall. Angel arched an eyebrow at her.

'I feel obliged to tell you I have no problem with beating women like you,' he told her in the rasping growl that was his voice whenever he was in his demonic visage, inclining his stake in her general direction to further his point.

'Va' in malora!' she snarled and dashed forward, thrusting the stake towards his chest in a stabbing motion. He blocked the attack with his own stake, pushing her arm sideways, but she spun on her feet, using the motion to propel her body around for yet another strike and this time he was forced to take a quick step backward to avoid her stake getting impaled in his chest. She did not give him a moment to regain his balance but swiftly closed the distance between them, her lashing strikes not reserved for his chest alone but flying for his face, arms and neck.

Angel's arm shot out and closing his fingers around the wrist that held the stake, he tightened his grip before giving a quick twist of his hand that was followed by a sharp crack and the vampire's wail. This was cut short by Angel's stake lodging itself in her chest.

'We all will,' he told the pile of dust at his feet. 'We all will.'

He glanced indifferently at the gash in his left shoulder. Though it was nearing an inch in depth there was hardly any blood where the stake had sliced through the muscle, and looking at the wound, it struck Angel it was healing slower than usual.

'That's not good,' he muttered for himself, carefully fingering the pale skin that shone silvery white where it was struck by the thin seam of the moonlight that fell between the flat roofs of the adjacent buildings. He had gone more than a week barely eating and it was apparently not doing wonders for his physique.

The sudden eruption of brawling noises cut through his glum musings and he looked up. Sidestepping the dust pile, Angel strode along the alley, placing his weight carefully on the right hip that still throbbed in pain, until he could look down the small sideway that ended blindly some twenty yards down and wherefrom the racket originated.

It was a bit like walking onto the set of the Matrix only this was real.

And the single figure in the long black coat was not doing kung-fu as much as he was simply pulling every dirty trick that was not in the textbook, egging them on with laughter, scoffing and unabashed cheering.

Merely two steps down the alley, a good thirty metres from the scuffle, Angel paused and leant back against the brick wall to watch Spike go.

The three vampires were circling him like a pack of hyenas, growling, snarling, and attacking with random, uncontrolled fury, while he met them with punches and kicks, moving his limbs with inhuman speed so his shape was blurred by the long, black coat that ran well underneath his knees. His attackers were not left behind the wagon either when it came to doing as much physical damage as possible regardless of the scraps they received in return, yet, the blows had very little effect on the bleached blonde vampire and soon two of his tormentors had crumbled to dust at his hands. The third scuttled away from him, but Angel saw Spike's hand shoot out and his fingers closing around a handful of its hair, yanking it back, and with a powerful jerk he wrought the head of the body. Angel winced involuntarily, as the remains of the demon drizzled between Spike's fingers to join the larger pile of dust at his feet.

Spike let out a short sigh and gave a small shrug as if to loosen the muscles between his shoulder blades. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face, baring a single fang. 'I love doing that.'

Angel did not move from his shadowed spot by the alley wall.

'So you're back.'

Spike's face turned to him as though he had known Angel to be there the entire time, slipping into his human visage in the process. 'Noticed that, did ya?' He began a thorough rummage through his pockets, fishing out a single cigarette which he placed between his teeth, carefully lighting it, before raising his eyes once more. 'I must say, it is a jolly happy welcome committee. I'd kinda hoped for those nice flags they wave around at the airport to go with the cheering.'

Ignoring the comment, Angel turned to leave the alleyway, the stench of rats and old sewer tearing painfully at his nostrils. This did not perturb Spike who nonchalantly fell into track beside him.

'So, what's with the comedy mask, Peaches?'

'I'm just ecstatic to have you breathing down my neck again,' Angel grumbled, striding over the scattered remains of the shattered dustbin, determined not to let Spike see the slight limp in his walk.

Spike exhaled and faint grey smoke danced briefly before his face before it melted into the shadows cast by the slanting buildings. 'And what can you answer to that admirable attempt at sarcasm?' he commented dryly.

'How about some pointed and meaningful silence?' Angel suggested, stepping into the brightly lit street.

'Nah,' Spike took yet another drag of his cigarette, his eyes scanning the length of neon signs and retail buildings. 'The whole too-dim-to-string-a-sentence-together stuff really works a lot better for you.'

Without a glance at his companion, Angel turned down the virtually abandoned sidewalk. 'And I was just wondering why it was I didn't miss you.'

'That's sweet,' Spike said and Angel could hear the grin in his voice. It was strange, but now, walking down the street, exchanging the half-hearted affronts that had become custom between them, he did feel calmer than he had done, well, since the episode with Buffy in the room, but that was also the only time he had actually come close to feeling at ease during this infernal trip.

Still, the fact that it was _Spike_ of all people who should be the cause of a moment of spiritual peace, that just went beyond Angel's comprehension.

'So how far did you get before you passed out in a bar, and someone stole the car because you forgot to take the keys with you?' Angel shot the bleached blonde a sidelong glance, admiring his own attempts at conversation. A thin seam of blood had formed a dark trail against the alabaster skin of the other's face, winding along the characteristic cheekbones from the eyebrow that was already healing.

'And there goes the car again!' Spike's hand did a flippant move so the fuming cigarette danced dangerously close to Angel's leather jacket. Angel's leather jacket which now came with a ruined sleeve. First the duster and now this; clearly the trip had not been a good idea considering the health of his attire.

He shot Spike what he hoped was a withering look. 'Meaning?'

Spike's swagger became slightly hurried as he struggled to keep up with Angel's long stride. 'You always return to the bleedin' wheelbarrow...don't tell me you've still got your knickers in a knot 'cause I got to take off with it!'

'So someone did steal it?' Angel turned down the street to his left. Here no neon signs cast their synthetic light across the tarmac, but the dark shadows fell as a result of the yellow light that spread from the tall lampposts at either side of the road.

'No, they soddin' didn't,' Spike grumbled.

'So, what?'

Spike took a deeper huff of his cigarette, the stub glowing briefly in a fiery orange before it died to ashen grey once more. 'Well,' he began, his voice muffled by the cigarette clenched between his teeth. His left hand reached up and took it delicately between his fingers. 'Apparently the way to get the Suit Squad all twitchy over here is to park in a bloody fountain on the main square. Didn't like that one bit, the poor things.'

Angel could not help but smile. 'I can only imagine.'

The stub of Spike's cigarette scorched his fingers and he winced. Running the toe of his boot over it a couple of times he looked up at Angel, who had paused to watch the show unfold. 'So, why am I here?'

Angel knew Spike was being serious, which was a rare occurrence, but he just could not help himself. 'See, I've been asking myself that question for a hundred-odd years.'

The other vampire pulled a face. 'Tossing nonce.'

'You're here because I'd rather see you play the human torch than Buffy,' Angel said sombrely, deciding it was hardly the time for desultory insults.

Spike looked at him with an interested expression on his face; whether it was genuine or feigned, Angel did not know. 'Some kinda mythical sacrifice?'

Angel cocked his head slightly. 'In your case I think they'd call it long-term pain relief for relations and friends.'

'It's good to find you in good cheer, Peaches,' Spike said merrily, ignoring Angel's snide remark.

'Yeah, you too.'

A second cigarette had materialised in the other's hand. 'So what's going on?' he asked again.

'The demon you released upon the world has proven to have a knack for its career choice as a serial killer.'

'Was that the one you had a cat-fight with?' Spike's eyes scanned Angel's face, lingering by the scratches that ran down his cheek, and though they had already healed, Angel knew that the proof was still there in the form of four dark trails of dried blood.

He shot Spike a fleeting glance. 'No,' he said. 'That was just a vampire that didn't feel like getting staked tonight.'

Spike gave a short nod and sighed. 'Whatever happened to the 'punch, hit, wallop' approach of the olden days?'

'I know,' Angel acknowledged with a sigh.

'Or,' Spike added ponderously, waving his cigarette around in an aimless manner, 'maybe we are finally getting the American Spirit: booze, women and violence.' His brows contracted in thought. 'Though, you had that pinned down pretty good 'couple of centuries ago...'

Nodding absent-mindedly, Angel turned down the larger street leading to the hotel. 'Not too big on the violence, though...' he mumbled pensively.

''Cause your dad beat you,' Spike concluded with conviction. Angel could not help glaring weirdly at Spike at that comment.

'He didn't -'

'Oh come on! It's hardly nothing to be ashamed off.' Spike took another heavy drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. 'I mean, I turned my mom and had to stake her while she was coming onto me, and see how normal I turned out anyway!' He beamed at Angel, who was uncertain as to whether the comment had been meant in earnest or not, so resorted to shoot the other a stiff half-smile that felt more like a pained grimace.

'The symptoms are all there,' Spike went on. 'Unsocial, tactless, sudden spurs of violence, low self-esteem ,' his eyes scanned Angel's appearance, 'abysmal dress sense -'

'Are you done?' Angel snapped, though he could not get the proper stinging edge to his voice.

'- easily angered and with smart replies having a tendency of becoming recycled.'

'It's 'It's hardly anything' or 'It's nothing', by the way,' Angel said, taking advantage of Spike's need to stuff his cigarette between his lips and the resulting short-lived silence.

Spike blinked at him. 'What's that, Peaches?'

'You can't use the double negative,' Angel explained. 'It's grammatically incorrect.'

Spike cocked a scarred eyebrow at him. 'You don't say?' he said wryly. 'Where're we goin'?'

'To the hotel,' Angel said. 'We can't let you walk into Giles' living room looking like a bloody pulp with legs – it's so nice and clean you see.'

Spike smirked. 'Very well, Captain Forehead, lead the way to your humble abode. Not that you look a bleedin' tad better yourself,' he added gruffly.

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When Spike's excitement had dulled following their rather untraditional way of entering Wesley's room by crawling up walls and prying it open from the outside, it did not take them long to get cleaned up, though it required some forceful arguing from Angel's front to make Spike change his blood- and sweat-stained shirt for one of Wesley's extra. In return, Spike offered Angel one of his spare blood-bags, which he had assured him he had collected the same morning from a very nice, ask-no-questions butcher.

'If you don't eat something,' the younger vampire had argued, 'your face will no longer be white but bleedin' grey, that won't work with the hair and we all know what a tragedy that would be.'

'When you start to notice things about my appearance that extends beyond my outfit and my hair, you become quite scary,' Angel had replied but nonetheless accepted the offer.

-------------------------------------------------------

They walked along the dark streets and Angel told Spike, who was smoking again, of Helhesten and of Kennedy's death, he told him that neither he nor Wes had mentioned his resurrection or the tiny detail that he was dropping by for a visit. And Spike walked beside him, silent, listening, and from time to time spectres of smoke would dance in the vague light cast by the lampposts as he exhaled slow breaths of smoke. Angel knew he was uneasy, could almost smell his discomfort even though the younger demon's face remained expressionless and did nothing to betray what he felt. Angel wondered whether the fear was to do with Helhesten and the subsequent destruction they had caused by releasing it, or whether it was more personal; whether it was to do with seeing Buffy again.

He really did not want to go down that track.

'Is she taking a toll?'

Angel cast a fleeting glance at his companion who was demonstratively looking straight out as he walked. A strange freezing feeling erupted somewhere around his midriff. 'What would you know about it?' he countered brusquely.

Spike held out his hands, palms up in mock defence. 'Down, pops; my ex dropped me for a fungus demon once, remember? I'm practically a veteran on all aspects of problematic relationships.'

'Sounds wonderful,' Angel remarked, feeling too bad to even bother feigning sarcasm.

'So what's the deal?' Spike pressed. 'Not all wedding dresses and red roses?'

'We're good,' Angel brushed him off. 'Worry about your own entrance.'

Spike let out a breath of smoke through clenched teeth. 'I've got it narrowed down to charging into the front lounge on my pearly white steed or swinging to the rescue in loincloth only. What do you think would be the most wow-inspiring?'

'Stepping out of a veil of bluish white smoke with a pop?' Angel suggested, glancing at the other's anxious face, where a soft ridge had formed between his dark eyebrows. Spike's hand was moving the cigarette rhythmically up and down, to his mouth, suck on it, down again. To his mouth, suck on it, down again.

'What am I going to say?' he exclaimed, a shrill edge to his voice. ''Hey, pet, I'm back from the dead just like Nancy-boy there. Wanna go for a beer'?'

Angel bit his lower lip nervously. 'You might want to leave out the beer part.'

A small, white van was parked before the house and Angel felt a quick pang of unease, until he realized that someone had had the ingenuity to call for pizzas. A small man in a white uniform climbed back into the vehicle and the engine went on with a roar, the van taking off down the road to reveal the spiked iron fence and the closed wooden door behind it. Spike was approaching it with as much enthusiasm as had it been a pool of Holy Water he had to cross. Angel marched on, ignoring Spike's increasingly slouching pace. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he paused to lean against the sturdy fencing and stare expectantly at Spike, who reluctantly joined him before the door.

'It's not the end of the world,' Angel tried.

Spike shot him a withering look. 'No, Peaches, this is much worse.'

Angel silently agreed.

Stabbing out his cigarette, Spike raised his fist and knocked resolutely on the door's hard surface. A strained second or two passed in silence before the ruffled sound of movement in the hall reached Angel's ears.

'It's me,' he called out, and the sharp snap of the door being unbolted followed and it was pulled open. Angel saw Spike shift uncomfortably but nothing happened from within as Xander's form disappeared into the study again. The younger boy had apparently not the greatest desire to speak with him, Angel mused, as he stepped through the door, for only to remember that Spike could not enter.

'Come in,' he tried uncertainly, not too sure it would work. Spike stepped forward but still found his passage blocked. He raised his eyebrows mockingly at Angel.

'Any other bright fads?'

'Can we come in?' Angel yelled and Giles voice answered from the other room, disinterestedly and spontaneously, which told Angel that the question had not struck the older watcher as strange.

'Of course you can come in!'

Angel pulled off his jacket, ignoring the slight prickling this caused around the wound and heard Spike close the front door after him. He crossed the small corridor in two long strides and pushed the door open. Wesley was standing with his back to them, facing the bookshelf, his head bowed as his hands frantically turned page after page in the withered volume he held in his hands. Giles was still consumed in the Book, a fuming mug at his right hand and Xander and Buffy were both seated at the table, searching through three books at once, with a slice of pizza in one hand. There was no sign of Willow and Angel's stomach squirmed in guilt and shame.

He stepped into the room and Spike paused beside him.

'Angel,' Giles murmured, 'you're back. That's good. I think I might -' Then he looked up and his mouth slid open in astonishment. 'Good lord!' he whispered.

Xander's eyes travelled to Spike and he dropped the slice of pizza though his mouth remained open. But it was to Buffy Angel looked, and he saw her eyes widen as an array of emotions sped across her pale face, all gone too swiftly for him to read.

Spike looked at her, and there was a strange expression on his face, something between doubt, pain and sorrow, and it looked as though his cheekbones protruded more than usual from his defined face.

'Hi, luv,' he said quietly.

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**A/N: **'Va' in malora' roughly translates as 'go to Hell' which explains Angel's reply: 'We all will'.

**Author's Thanks: **

**Wesfan1234** (thanks so much! Willow was especially hard to write in that sequence, I don't know how many drafts and rough copies I've got that didn't work:-), **AngelicDreams, spangelover, legolasgal, nimwen, shahid** (Oh thank God, I was afraid I had lost you! I know Wesley's character takes the more bookish turn in this part but I just felt it was necessary for the story. In past chapters he showed he had changed, but I feel that as a character, he is mature enough to know when his skills as a researcher is needed and I wanted to show that. Still, thanks for the feedback and I promise there is some Wes-action to come :-), **a2zmom **(thanks so much :-) I really thought about how they would react to the death of yet another person close to them, and though it was hard to write, I'm really glad you liked it!), **stephanierb** (Yay, new reviewer! Thanks so much for your review! I'm a BA shipper as well, and am shocked every time someone says Buffy belongs with Spike – I just can't see it. Well, glad you're reading and liking!).

Also thanks to: **Tariq, Edgechick816, urangel, Leni, Violet SS, Gwenyver, CF**, **David Morris, **I hope you are still reading :-)

**Distribution: **I always forget this one. If you want it, you can have it. I'd just like to know where it goes.

Long chapter this time. Next chapter: tempers flare and Wes and Willow get down to some controversial magic use...

Please review:-)


	12. Betray Me

**Summary**: Spike has arrived on Wesley's request to help them fight Helhesten, though none of them seems to know exactly how to do it.

**Chapter 11: Betray Me**

Author's thanks at end.

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'Jealousy is not the fear of losing. It is the fear of sharing.'

X

Buffy gingerly got to her feet, as though her legs were too stiff to be able to move properly. She stepped nearer to Spike, and in the silence of the room the soft pad of her light steps upon the carpet was the only sound to be heard. Even Giles seemed to be holding his breath.

Spike did not move from his spot beside Angel, who watched in bitter silence, a burning feeling rising inside him, as Buffy paused before the younger demon, sliding a finger down the side of his face, whispering his name, as if she was questioning his presence.

While Angel would have thought it was physically impossible for him to remain quiet for such a long period of time, Spike said nothing, even as Buffy slowly laced her arms around him and drew bleached blonde vampire and leather coat into a soft hug. Spike closed his eyes, his lower lip going white where his teeth dug into it and Angel looked away.

Straight at Giles who caught his eyes, a weird expression of triumph and malicious pleasure passing over the old Watcher's face before he quickly looked down at the book that still rested in his hands.

'Pet,' Spike's voice murmured huskily, and through the corner of his eyes Angel saw him loosen Buffy's hold, his hands gentle but determined. Angel looked down at the floor between his feet, remaining quiet and unwilling to see Buffy's reaction whilst at the same time feeling a strange urgency to know, to understand.

There came a shrill squeak of a chair leg scraping along the floor and then Xander's voice sounded, higher pitched than usual, betraying his shock and confusion. 'Spike? Man, we – we thought you fried...'

Angel did not look up but knew the other vampire well enough to know that that sort of comment warranted a cold glare. Spike did not disappoint him.

'Well, I did,' he replied brusquely.

Xander said nothing.

'H-How?' Buffy's voice was hoarse and Angel found his eyes had sought her face once again as she spoke. There were so many restrained emotions fighting in her voice, and he could not discern one from another.

'Apparently, the bloody trinket turned up under Angel's nose and spat me out on Peaches' desk, so I spend some time as Casper, getting to know my new surroundings and colleagues, no sense of feeling, touch, smell, learning to walk through walls, you know the deluxe package...until I became a real boy again.' Spike's gaze brushed across Buffy's face as he spoke but did not linger there, darting from person to person, from shadow to shadow, and no matter how hard he tried to conceal it with offhand behaviour and sharp words, Angel saw his pain and knew it from himself.

'You – you came back as...uh...as a ghost?' The glasses were off the old Watcher's nose and back in his right hand, and he still sounded as though he was struggling to find his voice.

Spike fixed him with a sharp stare. 'Yeah, and though its may seem exciting the first week or too, what with the whole 'No Place Off Limit' deal and what's not, it quite quickly gets a bloody drag.'

'For how long?' Buffy's voice shook. Angel saw the faint glint in her eyes and knew she was either very angry or very sad.

The smugness and pretence evaporated from Spike's voice as he looked at her. 'Almost half a year,' he answered.

Buffy nodded curtly, crossing her arms unconsciously before her chest, and this time Angel knew it was anger and hurt in her voice. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

The question was short and sharp, striking Spike like a whiplash and he blinked. 'It takes the martyrdom out of the heroic death, doesn't it? Dying to save the soddin' world for only to be spat back by the bloody Powers that Be as a ghost – that's quite pathetic.' But Angel could see in his eyes that it was more than that and he knew that Buffy saw it too.

And suddenly she had turned to him, her arms swinging agitatedly by her sides, and the confusion and disappointment that shone in her eyes tore into Angel. 'You didn't tell me.' Her voice barely rose above a whisper and yet Angel had no difficulty in feeling the accusing, disbelieving, tone that tinged her words. 'You knew and you didn't – why?'

Before Angel could reply, Spike's hand shot in the air in his old flippant fashion. 'Uhm, luv, 'm afraid it's not that fair to pile it all on Gabriel.' Buffy looked at the bleached blonde vampire. So did Angel, and for once Spike seemed uncomfortable with the attention he was attracting. 'I told him to keep the zipper shut,' he finally said.

Buffy cocked her head. 'And Andrew?'

Spike nodded. 'Yeah, the git too.'

'Andrew?' Xander was watching them, a strange expression of realisation slowly crossing his face. '_Andrew _knew about your –' he gestured vaguely with his hands, searching for the right word. Spike cocked a scarred eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. '- revival?'

'Ghostly prelude and all,' Spike confirmed. Then his brows furrowed in thought. 'Talking of the brat, what became of Dana?'

This was a question Angel himself had wanted to ask, but Wesley had seemed to think that it would be to their advantage if they managed to secure the Scoobies' cooperation when dealing with Helhesten without reminding any of their reluctant hosts of the incident a couple of weeks previously.

Angel caught Buffy's eyes as they flashed to his face but she quickly dropped her gaze, and he was left with a feeling of spreading emptiness within him.

'I can assure you, she is receiving the best possible care,' Giles said in the same chilly voice he had otherwise reserved for Angel. Wesley shifted his weight uncertainly.

'Spike is here to help us deal with the demon,' he explained, clearly finding the conversation drifting more than what was to his liking. 'If we have to attempt to take Helhesten on with brute force, we will at least need the best brute force in the field.'

'So what are you doing here?' Xander interrupted rudely.

Wesley just smiled coldly. 'I take care of our weaponry,' he replied, tossing one of his small handguns onto the table where it glided to a slow halt underneath the young man's nose.

Xander's eyes darted from Wesley's face to the gun and back again. Then he grinned at the Watcher in exultation. 'Bullets can't even kill vampires –'

'These might do the trick,' Wesley simply said, returning his attention to the book in his hands.

There was a short moment of strained silence.

'We need to talk,' Spike said.

Buffy looked at him, her face pale and tense. 'We so do.'

Angel took a seat at the table, grabbed the nearest book and pretended not to notice the brief glance she shot him. Her steps sounded rhythmically from the stairs, her small frame obscured by Spike's black leather coat as he fell into track behind her before silence fell around the table again, broken only by the frequent flicker of a page being turned.

No voices sounded through the wooden beams of the ceiling, and still Angel's head was buzzing with incoherent, half-formed thoughts that passed and were gone before they were fully formed. His stomach was feeling as though he was falling very quickly, very far, as though some invisible abyss could open at his feet any time and hurl him downward, and only the hush of the air blowing past his ears could drown out the confusion inside his mind.

He did not know what to do.

He did not know what to think.

He did not even know what not to think.

Angel forced his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to clear it. It did not work very well. Opening his eyes, he looked to Giles who sat bent over the old book and remembered something. 'Did you find something?'

Giles started at the sound of his voice. 'Oh, um, yes, in fact I believe I do.' He began to turn the pages of the book as though he was searching for a particular passage. Angel rose from his chair and crossed to the old Watcher's side of the table.

'There,' Giles said, placing a single finger firmly on the extract in question. Angel squinted at the unintelligible symbols that danced across the page, feeling Wesley peer over his shoulder. Giles went on. 'This mentions a spell that might succeed in binding Helhesten forever in the shadow realm, trapping it between the worlds, rendering it forever incapable of ever crossing over again.'

Wesley leant in closer, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. 'Dangerous?'

Giles leant back in his chair. 'It hardly presents us with any greater threat than any of the other plans we have still to devise.'

'Point made,' Wes mumbled.

'What does it involve?' Angel asked.

'Dark magic,' Giles answered shortly. 'We must literally dig a trench between the worlds, force Helhesten into it and, um, close it after it...using means I have yet to uncover.'

'An ancient Greek practice,' Wes took the seat beside the other Watcher.

'Indeed,' Giles confirmed.

'I believe the earliest record of a similar attempt predates Homer.' Wesley's attention was reserved the book in his hand, whose tattered pages he turned roughly, clearly searching for something. 'Demons and spirits of the dead that had escaped the Underworld could be sent back using a specific spell.' He looked up. 'I had never considered it could work with something like this.'

'I believe it could,' Giles said, 'though it would involve toying with powers that could easily get out of control.'

'This already is out of control,' Wesley pointed out.

'True,' Giles admitted, 'but we should not dash recklessly into a potentially fatal situation with minimum knowledge of our foe.'

'Hear, hear,' Xander muttered with a blatant lack of enthusiasm.

'How can this be done?'

Giles met Angel's eyes briefly. 'It requires a specific spell and it must be done before a church, preferably one where a horse was buried centuries ago –'

'Which could prove to be a problem,' Wesley muttered without raising his eyes. 'Unless we can devise a way to bring this thing with us to Scandinavia, I think we can rule out that option.'

Giles thoughtfully turned a page, his eyes scanning the indecipherable writing. 'Yet, it is possible to perform the ritual and the spell at a church where its spirit has not earlier dwelled. Although it would result in the need of even stronger magic, I am confident it could be done.'

'Willow and I could go and get the stuff you need for the spell.' Xander got to his feet, surveying Giles with uncertain nervousness.

Giles did not look up. 'Good. Um, yes, I-I will write you a list.'

The whirlwind in Angel's mind was picking up strength again and no matter how hard he tried to shut the images out, they still sped past his inner eye, unbidden and unwanted.

Buffy and Spike.

Spike and Buffy.

Of course he had known about it, down to the tiniest detail he wanted nothing to do with, and during the one-on-one part of the trip, he had had plenty of time to imagine it as well, but nothing compared to the icy feeling of actually _seeing_ it. He swallowed.

'How do you dig a trench between dimensions?' The question was only half-hearted; a futile attempt at distracting his garbled thoughts from the fact that Buffy and Spike had been gone far too long.

It was Wesley who answered. 'It consists of a particular ritual, and must be performed on a holy spot where the spirits of the dead linger, because this is where the veil between the worlds is at it thinnest and can be broken.'

Angel nodded. So far he followed the theory.

Wesley got to his feet and walked to the opposite side of the room, placing the book he had been going through back on the shelf. 'The ritual consists of a spell, Holy Water and oxen blood, the trench itself being carved into the earth using a knife that disappeared from Belarus a couple of centuries ago.'

'Wes –' Angel began uncertainly.

'But since we neither have a church with the remains of a horse underneath it nor the right knife, we will just have to make do with some more magic.'

'And considering our record with the stuff, success is a guarantee,' Xander sneered sarcastically.

Wesley ignored the comment. Giles was finishing translating the names of the ingredients of the spell onto a separate sheet of paper and did not answer either. Angel's thoughts returned to two of the three missing participants and he did not notice the book Wesley dropped in front of him.

x

It was strange how her mind had gone blank. Buffy had at least expected to become angry, happy, confused, _something_. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her with his trademark nonchalance, waiting for her to speak. What _did _you say to your ex-lover when he suddenly materialised in your living room, almost a year after his memorial service had been held? _Hi, how are you? How did you come back? You look exactly the same. _

Only he did not, Buffy suddenly noticed. There was a darkness in his eyes she only remembered seeing there once before, the steely determination that had burned there when he stood with the weight of the world on his shoulders, sacrificing himself to save a world that did not want him and a girl he knew did not love him. Determination, sincerity and understanding; a steadfast refusal of despairing, even when he looked the end of the world and his own death in the eyes. And she realised where she knew that look from; that was how Angel had looked every time he had feared for her safety and how he always looked now.

'I would have wanted to know,' she finally managed, not too surprised to find her voice hoarse.

Spike looked down, averting her eyes and nodded.

Buffy bit her lip. The words were catching in her throat but she knew she had to do this. 'We are not coming back together.'

His dark eyes met hers and held them. 'No,' he finally said.

Relief flooded her mind, swiftly joined by shame that she could feel like that upon pushing him away. 'It will be better that way,' she said. 'For both of us.'

A sad half-smile crept across Spike's face. 'Yes.'

'You must have felt it too, or you wouldn't have kept it from me.'

'Thank you,' Spike said quietly, succeeding in making Buffy completely confused. Why would he thank her _now_? After what she had just said to him? Apparently he saw her bewilderment. 'For making me alive for a short while and for giving me back my belief in redemption, for making me believe I was worth it.'

Buffy felt winded as though someone had just rammed an iron fist into her stomach. She felt her mouth move but could not get the words out, as she stood meeting his sincere and trusting gaze. He had wanted to change because of her; he thanked her for making him a better person.

Spike looked down and stiffly got to his feet. 'And though you never really loved me, it does not matter that much anymore because you gave me that,' his eyes found hers again. 'And he needs you more than me now.'

Buffy blinked at him. 'Angel?'

Spike sighed. 'The one and only. Don't go too hard on him...I think Peaches might have bitten off more than even he can chew this time.'

She looked into his eyes. 'I'm sorry.'

He shook his head. 'No. You're not.'

Buffy cocked her head, searching his face for anger, frustration, anything that would betray his disappointment in her, but she found nothing. 'Friends?' she asked.

Both his eyebrows shot upward at this as though he found her suggestion hilarious. For a moment he watched her like this, with quiet bemusement, and she began to suspect that that might not have been the right thing to say.

'Uh...I...'

He cut her off. 'Friends,' he nodded.

'Really?' She could have kicked herself for the breezy relief that tinged her voice.

He held out his half-empty packet of cigarettes as a way of responding. She wrinkled her nose.

'Eugh, no thanks. I have grown rather attached to my lungs.'

Spike grinned at her and jammed one between his own teeth. 'Wanna join the party?' The words came out a bit slurred.

She marched out of the room and he fell into track beside her. 'I missed you,' she said quietly.

They had reached the top of the stairs before Spike answered. 'Good,' he said with a mischievous grin.

x

Willow and Xander had left by the time Buffy and Spike entered the room. Angel had spend some time half-listening to Giles and Wesley's heated discussion about when, where and how they would trap Helhesten, until he finally got enough of their nagging and decided that he would be able to concentrate better upon the stack of books Wesley had found for him to research if he left them to their own devices.

The study was a relatively small room, too stacked with bookshelves and heaps of unsorted volumes for him to decide upon the actual area of the floor. There were neither table nor chairs, but Angel slumped comfortably down in a sitting position upon the floor, leaning his back against the bare wall. It was early morning and the sun had risen but the absence of any windows in the room's walls made it possible for him to flip calmly through the books' old, yellowing pages.

From the living room came the muffled sound of Giles' voice and Buffy's voice answered. Angel turned a page without having as much as looked at it. He wished he knew what had happened between her and Spike; if for nothing else then to silence the many imaginative outcomes his unruly brain tirelessly succeeded in conjuring up. A floorboard creaked beside him and he started to his feet.

'Hey!' Buffy's blonde head appeared in the open door.

Angel removed his hand from its spot by his belt where it had instinctively brushed against the wooden stake he had forgotten he had there.

She smiled broadly at him and sat down upon the floor, clapping the spot beside her, gesturing for him to join her. 'Did I get you?'

He offered her a brief half-smile before slumping down beside her, picking up the book again. 'It won't happen again,' he promised playfully.

Buffy snuggled closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. 'Who did you think would attack you here anyway? I mean, Xander's out and Giles is too busy verbally wrestling with Wesley to even notice you went in here, so I think you're in the safety zone.'

'Spike?' Angel asked.

He could feel her chuckle as she huddled against his chest. 'We're cool, you can breathe freely.' She paused, and he could hear the frown in her voice. 'Well, you know what I mean.'

Her blonde locks rained down over his shoulder as she tilted her head to look into his face. Angel met her hazel eyes and something gave a jolt inside him. But it was not of happiness, it was shame and guilt and he knew he would have to tell her. And not afterwards, not later. Now.

He swallowed.

'I have a son.'

Buffy's head snapped round with inhuman speed as she pushed herself slightly away from him. 'What?' she whispered breathlessly.

It was hard but Angel did not look away. 'It was my son who lost his mind.' The words were getting stuck in his throat. He knew he did not breathe and yet it was as if every time he saw that betrayed look in her eyes he did not get enough air to speak. 'I drove my own son mad...'

Buffy had gotten to her feet and Angel stood up too, not even noticing the book as it slipped from his hand. She blinked in shock. 'You had a – you did – even when we – before -'

'No, after I left.'

Clearly, Buffy did not understand that part. 'But he wouldn't be more than an infant!'

Angel bit his lip, wondering how to explain that part. 'He grew up in a demon dimension –'

'With whom?' Angel knew Buffy was trying to keep her voice even, but it still shook with anger, disappointment, despair.

He felt sick. 'With Darla.'

Buffy crossed and uncrossed her arms before her chest. 'But she's dead.'

'Wolfram and Hart resurrected her.'

Buffy nodded, her lips merely a thin line in her pale face. 'And you just seized the opportunity to jump into her pants?'

His mouth felt dry. 'No, Buffy –'

Angel reached out for her but she scuttled backwards, her face a contorted mask of fury.

'Shut up! I don't want to know!'

And that was the problem because she had to. She had to understand. But his mouth, brain and heart refused to cooperate.

'You have to know why!'

She took a trembling breath. 'I have to know _why _you lied to me? You need a reason?'

It felt as though something was rotting inside him. 'Yes.'

'You lied to me, Angel!' she screamed and kicked the nearest heap of books, sending loose papers and old volumes scuttling across the floor. 'You _lied _to me!'

'Yes.'

She glared at him, fuming with rage. 'So, is there a vampire in LA you haven't fucked?'

Angel met her glower, accepting her fury. 'It wasn't like that!'

'No, I'm sure it wasn't!' she spat and had turned to leave the room.

He could not allow that. 'Listen to me!'

She spun on her feet. 'No! So you just come back here to see me because she left you all alone in the cold and harsh world of a centrally heated office?'

'She died.'

'Sorry if I don't start blubbing my eyes out over that one.' Buffy's eyes had become glassy but Angel suspected it was tears of anger rather than sorrow. 'You leave me behind so you can fuck your old lover with good conscience, huh? You lie and keep information from me, trying to make me believe that everything was like before, that it would work out, be the same. _You lied to me_!'

'Yes.' And that was what made him feel sick, rotten; he had lied to her, expected everything without ever giving. Now, he had finally betrayed her, cut the wound too deep to heal.

'All this time, you been – oh god –' And it was not when she was shouting at him, yelling at him, it was worst. The worst was the hopelessness in her voice, the utter despair that followed the realisation that he had been capable of deceiving her like that.

'Buffy -'

And she hit him. Her fist connected with his jaw and her slayer strength made him stagger under her blow, bright fireworks erupting before his eyes.

'I _trusted _you,' she began shaking her head, backing slowly away from him. 'I trusted you with my love for all these years and you spit it back in my face.' She looked at him; a strange composure overcoming her and her face was hard and cold. 'I never thought you could do this to me, Angel. I never thought you could be like all the rest.' And she turned and was gone, leaving him standing alone in an empty room, watching her disappear out of his life for the second time.

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**Author's thanks:**

**nimwen **(thanks for still being here!)**, AngelicDreams **(I don't actually know how you would pronounce 'Helhesten' in English since it is from Danish folklore...)**, legolasgal, AlwaysHoldingOn** (I hate Nina as well, though not nearly as much as I hate the corrupt writers of the show who thought that she could replace someone like Buffy in Angel's and our hearts!)**, Tariq **(Thanks sooo much for your review!! I was so afraid I had lost you somewhere in the muddle that is my story :-)**, Lynn **(Thanks so much! Nice to know people are reading and liking!)**, Wesfan1234 **(I love writing Spike. Think it shows :-)**, shahid **()** a2zmom **(There are definitely feelings between Buffy and Spike, which I tried to show in this chapter, but I think that they both know and knew it was never love)**, DDuck **(Great review, thank you so much! It is great when readers notice the subtle points in a story and even takes time out to comment! Thanks! I will try and keep it up :-) **Seraph's Rhapsody **(I would love to! Really, really, really!) and **UberWicca** (Thanks so much for your review! There is just no better inspiration than a positive reader:-) I promise I will email you some of my work later in the week, and I would love to see some of your work too!)

**Author's Notes:**

I am so sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. It was not intentional, I promise! Oh, yes, and this chapter kinda took off on its own so more Wes action and magic to come in the next chapters....Well, if you can still remember what this is all about please review :-)


	13. Standing Alone

Chapter 12: Standing Alone

Author's thanks at end.

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'Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.'

- 'Sonnet', Edna Millay

X

Buffy did not know how long she had been lying upon her bed, curled into herself with the tears pearling down her cheek. Her head hurt, her eyes hurt, every part of her body hurt from her rigid position and yet the emptiness, the pain inside, was not dulled by the tears that kept coming with the quiet sobs that surged through her body.

Only the empty coldness spread from her abdomen and rose into her chest, choking her.

_Oh God..._

Somewhere inside her a small voice was whispering, callously and traitorously.

_You slept with Spike...Wouldn't that have hurt him? Why shouldn't he move on, too?_

But Angel and Darla...that was not moving on, that was going back; back to the days of Angelus, the days of darkness, of mindless carnage and of no remorse.

..._Angel..._

How could he have done something like that and still be Angel?

Because that was what hurt so much. He was not. He was not the one who was always there, the one who remained unchanging and steady in a crazy world caught in a whirlwind of change and destruction. He was no longer her only grip on sanity. He was no longer her Angel.

Buffy sobbed quietly into the rumpled sheets on her bed.

..._and nobody ever survives..._

The words came, unwanted and uncalled for, to slip between her empty thoughts; though she could not remember where they came from, what they meant, they struck her as strangely catchy. Nobody ever survived. The innocence, the love, the person, those were the first things to go, to become consumed in their mindless battle with evil. There was not room for feelings, for humanity, if you were to survive in a world of evil and destruction. Maybe he had lost it too. She knew she had, long ago.

Somewhere she knew Angel did not love Darla. That he had merely used her to feel something, maybe seeking the same warmth Buffy had given him. Just like she had done with Spike; seeking the light she no longer saw, to break free of the bubble of despair that closed tighter over her head, strangling her slowly.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the voices that were screaming at her in her mind. She could hear his voice and sometimes she could hear herself as well. And her words were always hateful.

_Why?_

Buffy knew why.

Herself.

x

'I can't believe you are back! I mean, is that normal with vampires? Is that why there's always so many of you?' Willow marched into the kitchen, a heavy plastic bag hanging from each of her hands. Behind her, bag in one hand and fag in the other, came Spike. 'Do you only stay dead for a month or two? Because I mean Angel, well, he came back as well and now so did you, and since you really are the only two vampires I know sort of on the personal basis level, I just wondered.'

Spike dumped the heavy plastic bag in the kitchen sink, the ringing noise of various bottles of glass connecting erupting from within as a result of his rough handling.

'Uh! Watch out for those,' Willow cried, jumping to his side. 'I don't think Giles wants newt eyes in his sink.'

Spike merely cocked an eyebrow at her. 'You're cookin' tonight, pet?'

She padded him playfully on the shoulder. 'Ah, ah, behave! Remember you're the guest.'

Spike picked a glass-jar from the bag and studied the slimy threads of entrails-looking material that swam in a greenish-black liquid. 'Where's the lil' bit?'

'Dawn? She's in England, battling demons and her French teacher in equal measure and having a great time.'

'So,' the word was drawn out as the vampire turned to face her. 'How are you, with the death scenes and whatnot?'

Her head snapped up at this and she gave him a fleeting glance before she looked back down again. 'I'm – I guess, I'll survive.' She placed a bottle containing some kind of, what he did not doubt was exceedingly revolting, material upon the table.

'That's not enough.'

Her hand froze. 'What?'

He surveyed her slowly. 'Surviving isn't enough. You have to bloody live while you have your soddin' chance.'

Willow lowered her head again, so her red hair fell before her forehead and hid her expression. She placed a second bottle beside the first. 'Guess you're a bit of an expert on the subject...'

'Not on living, no,' Spike admitted ruefully. 'But on getting the best out of what you've got, yes. Tryin' to teach Peaches - not that the wanker's any good at it, o' course. Much more enthusiastic about sitting aroun' staring holes in the air, that one is.'

A thoughtful wrinkle appeared between Willow's brows. 'He doesn't look too good.'

'Never did,' the vampire answered, picking something from the bag without looking. 'But the bleeding lawyer business is not exactly doing wonders for his complexion.' He grimaced as he realised that the jar he currently held in his hand was stuffed to the brink with _eyes_. Yuck. These people.

Willow did not notice the look he shot her. 'And you two seem to be getting along great...'

'All things considered...' Holding the bottle between thumb and forefinger, he carefully placed it in the sink. 'And you don't seem too bad either. All of you.'

'It's difficult and a shock –' Willow's voice shook.

'She was not the one, anyway, pet.'

He heard her spin around and there was a tinge of anger in her voice. 'What would you kn-'

'Still love's bitch, lass,' he said, and turned to face her. 'You didn't love her.'

She glowered at him, but Spike did not give her the time to vent that fury.

'You were afraid and needed something beyond the pain and the fear, and that is not the best excuse for a relationship, luv. But it will make it easier in the end.'

Willow stared at him for a while as though she wondered whether to hit him or not. Then she finally let out a trembling breath and managed a weak smile. 'I guess so,' she said quietly.

Spike nodded for himself and resumed the process of emptying the bag that was still succeeding magnificently in producing bottle after bottle, one more disgusting than the one before it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at one containing something that looked unnervingly similar to swollen frog-heads. 'So, what's this for again?'

x

'The spell,' Giles began agitatedly, slamming the book shut and ripping the glasses off his nose, so he could wave them around in a cantankerous manner, as he spoke. 'There is nothing in this – _thing_ - that says exactly how it shall be done...nothing – nothing but brainless gibberish the lot of it!'

Wesley raised his eyebrows in a noncommittal gesture, calmly turning a page in the book he held in his hands.

'This trench,' he began, 'does it have to be dug in the ground as was the ancient practice, or in the air as has become modern these days?'

Giles sighed deeply. 'It must be dug in the earth, directly before the church where the horse would have been buried if it was we had a church where there _was_ a horse. Now, we will have to bury it in front of the church where there is _no _horseand this requires incredibly strong magic.'

Wesley nodded for himself. 'And by opening this portal, we run the risk of releasing all hells demons which just so happens to be imprisoned in this purgatorial world.'

'Exactly.'

'Not quite the odds I like to play.'

'I don't see we have much choice.' Giles stood up from his chair. 'Tea?'

x

Angel's feet were frozen to the floor and his eyes stared at the empty doorway without seeing, her voice ringing shrilly in his mind, echoing off the walls of his skull. And he understood. He knew. God, had he not wanted to scream and punch and kill something when he heard of Riley? When he first learned of her and Spike?

Yes, he had. And still he had done exactly the same thing. He had tried to move on, thought he could get over her, forget what they had...he had tried to make something fill the empty hole inside him, and yet nothing could make him feel as she had. He felt nothing, and the more he sought to feel, the number he became and frustration and despair flooded his mind and heart. He did not know who he was becoming, did not know what he was anymore.

And it had frightened him because amid all the darkness and the confusion came the thought of her and he had known Buffy would not like the person he had become. The person he was _not _becoming. After nearly two years she had mattered more than anyone else, she still did, and of all people she was the only one who could not see it.

Angel suddenly became aware that the floor was strangely close to his face and he realized with queer numbness he was on his knees on the floor. His body was trembling with the short, shallow breaths that surged through him and as he raised a hand to his face, it shook.

She was not coming back this time. He had known it when he chose to tell her – known what the outcome would be. Yet, he loved her too much to keep it from her any longer; that last honesty, he had owed her that. As a last favour.

And still, deep inside him, a tiny part of his soul had prayed that against all the odds, against all that was rational, she would have understood. That she would have listened. He chuckled but in his dry throat it came out more like a hoarse sob. Sometimes he surprised even himself when it came to his stupid and ungrounded expectations. He had no right to assume anything regarding her anymore. He had no right to her anymore.

And he still loved her so much it was ripping him to pieces inside, but it did not matter, because she did not know. She was not coming back.

x

Outside the weather was building up to a Mediterranean summer storm; the clouds were contracting like black flowing masses of liquid lead and soon heavy rain droplets struck the roof and the windows with a dull, continuous drum. Despite it being only late afternoon, Giles had pulled the curtains from the windows since the heavy cloud clover prevented the sunlight from coming through as effectively as an old woollen rug shields a room from the window's daylight. Far off a dull rolling grumble of thunder could be heard and the rain was slowly picking up strength.

Casually, Spike leant back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs and stared at Wesley, who was apparently outlining something of the greatest importance judging by the former Watcher's eager expression and ambiguous arm gestures.

'So, the portal can be opened by the use of a quite ordinary knife,' he was saying, 'provided the blade has been bathed in horse blood while the Norse god, Odin, is called upon. With this knife, we will dig a trench in the ground, a good twenty inches deep, I should think, and pour horse blood and the other ingredients Willow and Xander collected this morning into the hole, whilst we utter this special incantation.' He slipped a small piece of brownish paper under Giles' nose. 'This should open the portal and using a strong protective spell and a binding spell, we should be able to prevent an array of other demons from crossing while we force Helhesten back in.' He smiled triumphantly at them.

Xander cocked a questioning eyebrow at him.

Spike raised his hand.

'Um, sorry to spoil this moment of glory but this thing's the size of a small tractor. I don't want to be the one who is trying to fit the bloody thing in a hole that is at least four sizes too small.'

'A decent point though not one I have not taken into consideration,' Wesley rambled, sounding momentarily as though he had reverted to his old self. 'If all goes well, and we use the correct spell properly, Helhesten should be _sucked_ through the portal and out of this dimension.'

Spike grinned. 'You just know that ain't gonna be comfortable.'

'We must do this tonight,' Wesley said, 'before Helhesten has time to regain corporeal form.'

Giles cleared his throat. 'Shouldn't we wait another day so we are beyond doubt as to how this ritual must be performed? It is not only dangerous for those who are to be involved but also very risky and could possibly have fatal consequences.'

Spike eyes travelled over the book that lay on the table before him, an old, fading illustration gracing the sprawling pages. Recognising the creature, he picked it up, his brows furrowing in thought as he scanned the squiggling writing left behind by an elegant hand.

Wesley was saying something to Giles when Spike cut him off.

'You've seen this?' he asked, extending the hand that held the book. Wesley took it, looking nonplussed. His face paled as his expression of bewilderment was replaced by anxiety, fear and an odd determination.

'Well,' he said coldly, 'that just solves it. We will go after this creature tonight.'

Giles plucked the book from his hand, pushed the glasses back upon his nose and began to read. ''And on the third day of the new moon, Balder Son of Egil halted his party for rest for they had travelled for seven days and nights without rest and weariness were upon them. He spoke to them and they listened, all fearless men who had been face to face with the Evil One and now thought of nothing sweeter than to -''

'Cut the bleedin' prelude, will you?' Spike said, tapping his fingers on the table's surface in impatience.

Giles shot him a withering look, but nonetheless turned the page before continuing. ''But with the darkness of the evil night came the Devil upon their camp and none were safe from his wrath. That night The Evil One released hell's fire upon earth and the most worthy young men of the village burned, all doomed to have set their eyes upon their fair country for the last time.''

'The hunter became the hunted,' Wesley murmured darkly.

Giles turned to Willow. 'It will come after us. Willow, you must do a protective spell, try – try to close of this building from the demon.'

'I'll help you,' Xander said, springing to his feet. Willow just nodded shortly before bolting upstairs with Xander at her heels.

Wesley got to his feet. 'And we must perform the ritual tonight. We will need Angel's and Spike's assistance but that is also the longest we can afford to delay it.'

An agitated note was sneaking into Giles' voice. 'Why can't you see this foolhardy plan has a far too high risk of being unsuccessful? We do neither have the experience nor the qualification to carry out this kind of magic! I will not take the responsibility!'

'Don't,' Wesley said simply. 'I will do it.'

Spike watched with curious fascination, waiting for the older Watcher's reply. Yet none came. A panicky hammering reverberated throughout the building, as someone was proving magnificently talented in knocking the front door down. Spike got to his feet and Giles followed just as Willow and Xander reached the bottom of the stairs, fully armed with bottles, herbs and a large iron pot swimming with a dark liquid. Then through the continuous drum that was rapidly increasing in intensity, came the sound of someone screaming in hysteria.

His face hard in concern, Giles had his hand on the doorknob and was about to open it when Angel suddenly materialised beside them, his hand pressing the door firmly shut.

'Don't open it,' he growled, his voice tense. Giles had opened his mouth to argue but his protests died in his throat, when Kennedy's voice echoed from the outside.

'Willow! Buffy! Please, someone!'

In a fleeting moment, Angel caught Spike's eyes and suddenly he could smell it too. The familiar stench of smoke, burned flesh and rot. Giles had staggered backward at the sound of the voice and was now opening and closing his mouth in shock, which Spike found made him look strikingly like a goldfish someone had taken out of its basin and left to dry on the carpet. Wesley had disappeared out of the hallway and from the study came the sound of the weapon-cabinet being pulled open.

Angel spun on his feet, racing back into the living room and Spike followed.

'Willow! The spell!' Angel ran to the redhead who stood frozen in the middle of the floor, her face white. He grabbed her by the arm and shook her roughly. 'It's him, Willow,' he pressed. 'It's not her. _The spell_.'

With fumbling fingers, Willow reached for the spell book among the collection of bottles and bundles of stinky herbs and began the incantation, the Latin coming stiffly and forced through her quivering lips. Spike could only catch every other word, the hammering and Kennedy's screaming voice drowning out virtually all other noise.

'Can't it just go through the bloody doors?' he yelled at Angel, who had slumped down in a crouch beside Willow, helping her through the spell.

'It must have regained corporeal form,' Wesley answered from across the room, pulling a sword from its sheath.

The words were coming clumsily, and Willow spoke each as though it was a sentence, struggling to make the spell come alive. Angel knew she could feel the power of the demon and realized she would not be strong enough to seal the entire house at once.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. 'We have to seal the house door by door.' Without looking up she nodded and got to her feet. With the spell book in one hand she slowly approached the front door, which was trembling violently under the strain. Xander was on the floor beside the pot, dumping various ingredients into the boiling liquid, which hissed and spluttered each time a new ingredient was added to the soup.

'So, are these gonna do any good or is it just for the bloody show?' Spike waved a sword at Angel who chose not to answer.

From the outside the screaming and the hammering halted as suddenly as it had begun, and the room became eerily quiet. Only Willow's slurry mumblings and the hissing of the pot mixed with the subdued drum of the raindrops against the window panes.

Angel shot Spike a telling glance and the younger demon returned it, before they turned simultaneously on their feet. The sharp crack of the splinter of glass cut through the room as had it been a gunshot, and raindrops mixed with tiny shards of glass as the stormy wind raced through the splintered window above the couch, sending the long, heavy curtains flailing inward.

'WILLOW!' Spike bellowed and the redhead began to ramble the words of her with inhuman speed.

The heavy raindrops fell through the open window and struck the floor loudly, carried by the wind that rummaged through the house. Somewhere on the first floor a door slammed shut.

'It's a diversion!' Wesley shouted. 'Is there a back door?'

As an answer, Willow's eyes widened and she raced into the kitchen. Angel grabbed the pot, which was giving off a sickly sweet-smelling fume, and jumped after her.

The backdoor was shaking madly on its hinges, and through the continuing rumbling thunder came a shrill, otherworldly shriek that rose until it drowned out the screaming of the wind as it swept by outside. Angel saw Willow close her eyes in strain and concentration as the demon placed its physical weight against the door and slammed into it, again and again, strike after strike.

'Angel!'

He spun on his feet, catching the sword Spike flung at him and turned to face the door as it flew off its hinges, deflected by Willow's spell and it was send scurrying backwards into the night. Helhesten's scream rose in the darkness and from the indistinct mass of blackness a single hoof emerged, dark and very real against the white tiles of the kitchen floor.

Behind him Angel heard Wes yell at Willow, Giles and Xander to get out but he did not turn around. He stared into the darkness, stared at Helhesten with a strange sense of calm, as the demon slowly raised its skeletal head, the empty sockets burning with a white light that searched the darkness blindly.

It stood in the empty doorway, the long, rugged mane and tail whipping around its frail neck and white face, as the wind tore at the black strands of hair. The demon took a trying step across the threshold, and Angel raised the sword.

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**Author's thanks:**

**UberWicca, Legolasgal **(glad you liked!), **nimwen, AngelicDreams, CF **(this was harder to write, especially because of the angst in the previous one. Please lemme know what you think:-), **stephanierb **(Glad you're still here! We are indeed nearing the climax and I'm trying desperately to cram as much into it as possible!), **spangelover, shahid **(So what did you think? More Wes to come, promise!), **Omar Mahmood **(yay, new reviewer!! I know about the whole Buffy hitting Angel stuff – I just feel like I would have hit him if I was her!), **a2zmom **(thank you so much for your review! It is great when a reader takes time to comment on the smaller points in the story.), **Tariq **(Eugh, I absolutely hate Dawn...I'm afraid she will have to stay in the English college I put her in for this story! Still, thanks so much for your review. It's great you're still with me!).

And of course to all me other reviewers as well!

**Author's Note: **Thanks to Dreamer's Child. If you all love BA (like me) you should really go and follow the link under this story's reviews to sign a petition for Buffy and Angel to get back together again.

This petition has been started to get the two amazing actors; Sarah Michelle Gellar and David Boreanaz to reprise their roles as Buffy and Angel so that we, the fans, can finally have a reunion and the ending we have always wanted.

Well, I think that's all. We are drawing nearer to the end so please read and let me know what you think!


	14. Short Walk to Daylight

Chapter 13: Short Walk to Daylight

Author's thanks at end.

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'And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted – nevermore!'

- 'The Raven', Edgar Allen Poe

X

The gunshot reverberated between the small kitchen's white walls which suddenly seemed to have clawed their way inward, the room closing in around them. The bullet struck Helhesten between the eyes and its head snapped backwards. Never lowering his arm, Wesley pulled the trigger again and a second and a third bullet became lodged in the demon's skull. The sheer force of the impact, the gun having been fired a mere five metres away, propelled its wiry form away from the door and out into the rain that lashed relentlessly against its bony back.

Through the thunder of the gun, which sent shrill bells chiming madly inside his skull, Angel spun on his feet to Giles, Willow and Xander, who at Wesley's order had retreated out of the kitchen and was now watching the show unfold from the relative safety of the living room. 'Don't look him in the eyes!' he yelled, his voice drowning in the crack of yet another gunshot. 'And don't be afraid. He will be able to smell your fear.'

Xander yelled something back but Angel ignored him, glancing back over his shoulder, as Wesley's gun gave a sharp dry 'click' and the Watcher frantically reached into his vest pocket and produced yet another handgun. He had taken aim to fire when Spike plucked the weapon from his hand.

'Reload,' the vampire ordered calmly, pointing the muzzle of the gun in a nonchalant fashion before casually pulling the trigger. Angel just had time to note that the aim was wrong before the gun went off and Helhesten crashed to its knee with a high-pitched scream before tilting sideways, the two hind legs sticking out like needles from a limp pincushion, kicking ferociously and striking the wall with an erratic drum, whilst the front leg remained limp, half-bent under the demon at a strange angle.

It did surprise Angel when it appeared as though Spike actually thought about something before doing it. Not that he was complaining as such. It was merely something he would have to get used to.

The demon was slowly working its way through Willow's spell and Angel knew they would not be able to hold it out for more than another five minutes at the most. Whilst it was writhing on the floor, slowly regaining its balance, he turned his back to it so he could face Giles.

'You three will have to get to the church -'

Giles glared at him. 'Which one?' he commented bluntly.

Angel ground his teeth. This was hardly the time for nit-picking and personal insults. 'The one you're most likely to find empty,' he answered, not able to restrain the snide tone that tinged his words. 'You will prepare the ritual and the spell. We will keep the demon off, distract it, so you can work in safety and undisturbed.'

'Goofy was gonna do it,' Xander said, pointing to Wesley.

'Get your stuff and go.' Angel tightened his grip on the sword as he turned on his heel. Spike was busy emptying the gun into the still-kneeling demon, the effectiveness of the bullets steadily declining with each shot.

'Do you like that, huh?'

_Bang._

'I actually know how it feels to be on the soddin' receiving end, ya know.'

_Bang._

'Though...it's _a tad_ more fun this way.'

_Click._

Spike stared at the gun in his hand with amusement. 'Oh,' he said softly, and swung his booted foot into Helhesten's face instead. Though the force of the kick would have sent a door flying off its hinges, the demon merely pulled back, its jaws opening to let out a long hissing screech and it was on its feet again in a wisp of black smoke.

The single foreleg and the shoulders had followed the neck and swinging head into the kitchen and underneath the ragged skin, sinewy muscles were strained taut against the binding spell that should have rendered it incapable of entering.

Angel really did not get the fuss about magic.

Helhesten's jaws closed with a sharp snap a mere inch from Angel's arm, as he brought the sword down upon its white face but it dodged the blow, its neck arching backwards with a snake-like agility. Spike's sword came whizzing past Angel's ear and he instinctively pulled back, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the blade scrape Helhesten's prominent withers. The demon screamed and lurched forward, its motion followed by a blinding white light erupting from the exposed doorway, a powerful ripple running through the building. The spell had been broken.

As quickly as the eruption of light had occurred the white flash died again to leave the kitchen seemingly darker than before. The remains of the light bulb that had previously cast its light around the room from the ceiling littered the floor in the shape of numerous tiny splinters of glass. Two flickers of light burned in the darkness as Helhesten stepped nearer. The glass crunched under its hoof and immediately Wesley's gun went off again, the impact of the bullet causing the demon to stumble. The former Watcher was firing blindly, having closed his eyes to avoid Helhesten's gaze, and Angel felt a short pang of awe at his friend's nerve, before the skull came whizzing through the air like a club, catching the side of his head. Through the darkness that swam fleetingly before his eyes, Angel felt himself fly through the open door into the living room, slamming into the wall directly beside the door that opened unto the hallway.

As he got to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain that had re-erupted in his hip, he felt a strange sense of triumph: he had actually been right about something. Helhesten would become far more powerful as it regained physical form, it _would_ have been dangerous to deliberately delay the moment they attacked the demon. Angel had only just reached the kitchen again when it occurred to him that that thought was hardly something he should find encouraging.

The light that fell through the doorway from the living room caught Spike's hair as the vampire swung his blade at the demon's head, neck and feet, though it by some supernatural force seemed able to avoid the blows. Moving through the shadows, it swept noiselessly around him, and Spike spun on his feet, losing his balance and crashing into the kitchen table behind him, the sword slipping from his hand. Gliding through the darkness Helhesten sped towards the defenceless vampire, who unflustered grabbed the frying pan that rested by the sink and slammed it across the demon's face.

Raising the sword over his shoulder as though it had been a javelin, Angel flung the weapon at it, watching the gleaming blade twinkle briefly in the shadowy lighting before it buried itself in the horse's shoulder. Its face lashed around to his, eye meeting eye socket, before it clenched its skeletal jaws apart and a hoarse, rasp hissing escaped it. Behind it, Spike picked up his sword and brought the blade down upon its neck like a practiced executioner. Until his hand froze midair and the sword clattered uselessly to the floor.

Angel stared as Spike staggered backwards, his fingers clawing at his own hair, his hands cradling his bowed head. His eyes were closed and his mouth moved wordlessly, as short, gasping sobs escaped him.

'NO!' he screamed, reeling sidelong into the wall and jerking back as though he had been burned. 'That never happened! It didn't – I never – no!'

'What the...' Wesley had walked up beside Angel, careful not to look at Helhesten, as the sword that had impaled the demon's shoulder burned and smouldered to the floor in blackened shards. There was shock and disbelief in his voice and Angel could hardly blame him. It was not as though the Watcher had been around the last time Spike had decided to play Who Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

'Watch him,' Angel ordered sharply and turned to the demon just as Spike screamed and fell to his knees, his face almost out-paling the bleached blonde hair.

'Well, doesn't this look _fun_?' Buffy was leaning against the doorframe, weighing a broadsword in her hands. She cocked an eyebrow at Angel. 'Can I play?'

Something gave a painful jolt in Angel's chest but she did not look as though she intended to ram the sword into his stomach. Not that he was too certain whether or not he would blame her if she did. He met her eyes and pondered the possibility of her turning and following Giles and the others to the graveyard if he told her to do so before answering. 'Rules are simple,' he finally said. 'No looking in the eyes –'

In a flurry of shadow and darkness, Helhesten flung itself at him and Angel swiftly pulled Wesley's sword from his hands to slam it across the demon's face, the force of the stroke sending it skittering sideways into the wall.

'- and no touching.'

Buffy's grip on her weapon tightened and she stepped across the threshold, biting her lower lip and casting a worried look at Spike.

Angel turned to Wesley, who stood leaning over Spike's form as the vampire lay writhing and screaming on the floor. 'Get him out of here,' he said quickly. 'We will delay the demon to give you the time to prepare the ritual – but you must be quick. And the trench – the trench must be a cross. You must get to the church – I don't think Giles' gonna do the ritual. You have more experience with advanced magic than he has – you must do this.'

Wesley met his eyes and extended his hand. Angel took the gun without looking at it, and spinning on his feet he pulled the trigger, sending the bullet crashing into the demon's gaunt chest, causing it to stagger away from the slayer.

Buffy was proficiently applying hit after hit at its neck and flanks, jumping and dashing out of the way whenever the skull came flying her way. Her eyes were closed, her body relying upon her slayer senses and instinct to dodge the demon's blows. Angel pushed the gun in his belt, uncomfortable with the feeling of the cold metal in his hand and instead grabbed a meat knife from the stand on the kitchen table.

They took turns to attack the demon, Buffy armed only with the heavy broadsword, Angel with a long, sleek blade that was well-balanced enough for him to swing it in his right hand whilst flashing the crude kitchen knife in the other. As the fight grew in intensity, they suddenly found themselves in the living room, whose brighter lighting slowed down the movements of the demon and gave Angel a chance to see it clearly for the first time.

Long, muscle-free legs with unnaturally large knees and hocks supported a body that was hardly anything but an assembly of poised bones, a ragged coat of long, coarse black hair having been pulled tautly over the bony frame. Where the second front-leg had once been, the skin only half-covered the rotten flesh, and the wiry hairs that made up the long mane and tail had in places been glued together by blood shed centuries before. The skull was fastened to the neck by a couple of strings of dead muscle and tendons that stood out like brownish ropes where the skin had disappeared.

It looked dead, it smelled dead, and yet it did not move as though it was. But then again, neither did he.

At first, Angel had ignored the voices that whispered and hissed in the back of his mind, drowned them with the rush of the fight and the power of the moment. Yet, now they were sneaking back into his brain, pulling a shield of glass between him and Helhesten and Buffy, separating him from reality. And just as he lost feeling of his body, Helhesten froze in the middle of a step and ever so slowly the white face was turned his way. The empty eye sockets no longer shone with the bright white light but carved inwards like boundless chasms, lightless, lifeless. And all of a sudden the voices no longer whispered, but screamed, high-pitched, wordless screams that filled his skull and blinded him, he could not see, not hear, not feel, and through the darkness came the hoarse whisper, the voice without a body.

'_Why can't you see?'_

And he could see, but the visions that flashed before his eyes were not of Giles living room.

It is cold and white around him, he is afraid but he can't remember why. Buffy raises her hand and touches his face but it is all wrong. _He _is all wrong. She should not touch him when he is like this. And suddenly it is no longer white and cold but dark, and he is no longer afraid. He feels light, rushed, and he grabs the dark head between his hands and twists her neck but as the body falls it is not the dark-haired girl but Buffy. He staggers back but the wall is closing in on him and he cannot get away from her glassy eyes that stare accusingly at him. He screams but she does not move.

He is kneeling. He can't remember why, but it does not matter because she is not dead. He is. He can see the hilt of the sword as it protrudes from his stomach. Coldness is spreading from the gleaming blade, growing inside him, and he cannot understand why. Darkness, darkness everywhere. He can't see, can't smell, and inconceivable pain burns all over his body, tearing him apart from within, and still they scream in his ears.

They are still screaming but the darkness is different. Buffy is looking at him but he turns his back and walks away and the pain is just as strong.

He feels different, heavier and lighter at the same time, and an unfamiliar beat thumps against his ribcage. Buffy places her warm palm against his skin and looks up at him. She smiles but something slams against the side of his face and the pain is different. He cannot save her. He cannot protect her. She is dying because he is not there.

'Angel!'

In Angel's mind, a small part of him was fighting Helhesten's hold at the sound of her voice. Buffy was not dead. The voices screamed inside him, pressing against the side of his skull until he thought the pain would make him pass out. Yet, he fought the darkness and slowly feeling returned to his body and with it pain erupted in his chest and he forced his eyes open.

The demon stood a few yards away from him, its body nailed to the wall by Buffy's sword. He was on his knees, gasping for breath when Buffy's hand closed around his arm and she yanked him on his feet. Half-running, half-stumbling he following her up the stairs, their climb accompanied by the thundering drum of Helhesten's hooves striking the floor in its ferocious attempt to free itself and follow.

The world still swam more than usual, as Angel slumped down beside Buffy, where she sat leaning against the wall in her room, having locked the door after her. She was very pale, her breaths coming quickly and shallowly.

'Are you okay?' he whispered in concern.

Buffy did not open her eyes. 'I could have done without you deciding to take a nap in the middle of a take, but 'part from that I'm peachy.'

He bit his lip and did not answer.

'So, what are we doing?' She turned her head and looked at him.

'Distracting it,' he said monotonously.

'Oh.' A small grin spread across her face. 'Looks a lot more like running and hiding from here.'

He frowned in thought. 'Picture that.'

They sat for a while in silence, listening to the erratic thunder of Helhesten's failed attempts at climbing the stairs, which mixed with the drum of the rain drops as they struck the window panes.

'Can we talk?' Buffy's voice was strained and tinged with unease. Angel shot her a fleeting glance and nodded. She got to her feet and he thought he better he do the same; apparently this was going to be one of those conversations.

'Listen, I – I'm sorry...for the things I said.'

Or maybe not. Angel opened his mouth to object but she held out her hand to cut him off.

'No, please – just...listen, okay? I really didn't have the right to freak out on you like that.'

He looked at her in confusion, the knot in his chest tightening strangely.

'I didn't – I didn't want to know, because I was so afraid that it would change everything. That you weren't the same – that you didn't...' She bit her lip and looked at the floor between her feet before pulling herself together and raising her eyes again. 'I never listen, do I?'

Not knowing whether or not he was supposed to answer, Angel remained silent.

'I get cranky and I don't think about stuff. I just start shouting – or hitting people.' Angel felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. 'Maybe it's a slayer thing. Maybe it's just me. Anyway, I think I understand why.'

Angel's head suddenly felt very light. 'I'm sorry.'

'Mantra?' She cocked an eyebrow at him. 'You know, you really ought to brush up on those conversational skills. They are beginning to run on replay.'

There was a slightly stinging tone to her words and Angel lowered his head.

Buffy sighed. 'God, I'm sorry...' she trailed off and grimaced. 'Did you get the irony of that?' There was a thoughtful ridge between her brows as she stared at him. 'I'm sorry I shouted at you and said the things I said. But I'm not sorry I hit you.'

Angel offered her a coy half-smile, seeing her point. 'No, I probably had that one coming.'

'You _so_ did,' she said, but there was light-heartedness in her voice. 'Should we sit down again?'

Angel leant his back against the wall, and she manoeuvred herself down beside him, close but not quite touching.

'Were there others?'

Tilting his head, he caught the painful expression in her dark eyes though she desperately tried to hide it. Then again, the room was dark. He could be imagining things.

'Never like you.' Angel answered, his voice refusing to rise above a hoarse whisper. 'I tried and it didn't mean anything. I could be with them, Hell I could even bed them, and it didn't make a difference. Not inside.'

She nodded but the doubt in her eyes burned into him.

'You could make me forget what I am, Buffy.' She had to remember this, could not forget him now. Could not doubt him now. 'You could make feel _warm _inside, feel alive, and I loved you for it. Loved you for loving me and for making me love you back, for longing for you every moment that you weren't there. And I tried to move on, tried to walk in a world that was cold and lonely because you weren't there. I tried to walk between the light and the darkness but I lost my way, could no longer see the difference between the shades of grey. And I thought of you. It was never easy then either. But you were there and somehow everything would work out as long as you were here, there was a reason to keep fighting.' He trailed off and closed his eyes, the knot in his chest tightening painfully. 'And my world was falling around me and you were gone. I had nothing to hold onto, nothing to believe in, and I did not want the darkness but took it anyway for it was the easiest way. And why shouldn't I? It didn't matter anymore. I felt cold and the harder I tried to feel, the number I became until there was nothing left but frustration and despair. And I thought of you, but I could no longer take solace in that either, because I knew, you would not have recognised what I was becoming. I didn't even recognise myself anymore.' Falling silent, Angel opened his eyes as he felt Buffy's hand on his.

'Me too,' she said, relief and an odd sadness in her voice. 'I couldn't see anymore, either.' Angel followed her gaze to their hands, and he slowly allowed his fingers to entwine with hers. 'Do you think it matters?'

He looked at her.

'That time passes and the world changes? Do you think that some things can still be the same?'

Her eyes burned into his, pleading, searching his, and Angel felt that warming sensation that had used to be so familiar spring to life in his chest, as he returned her gaze.

'Yes,' he whispered.

Her eyes had gone glossy and Angel saw her bite her lower lip before she swiftly lowered her head. The few strands of blonde hair that were left untied from her ponytail swayed in front of her face, the shadows hiding her expression.

When she spoke there was a shadow of desperate exasperation in her voice. 'I don't want to keep thinking about you, Angel! Not if you're not coming back. I can't.'

The knot in his chest had suddenly been replaced by a block of ice. 'So you're going to start forgetting?'

She stared at him. 'I _can't _forget, that's the problem! Pretend to be listening.'

'I am.'

'What about that lawyer firm in LA? Are they ever going to let you go?'

Angel bit his lip in uncertainty. 'I don't know.'

'If they do, will you come back?' He could hear the doubt in her voice.

'Yes,' he answered without a moment's hesitation.

She held his eyes for a long moment before she answered, cuddling closer to him on the floor and before he had realized what he was doing, Angel found his arm around her shoulder.

'I'll wait for you, then.'

Angel closed his eyes and leant his cheek against her soft, silken hair when it struck him that not only was the room silent, the entire house was.

And it was at that moment the wall seemingly exploded a mere feet from them and Helhesten's piercing scream cut through the subdued noise of the ongoing rain, as its head became visible where the wall had been only a second before. Angel scrambled to his feet and Buffy followed, dragging him towards the door, which she sent flying with a well-aimed kick and they ran down the corridor towards the staircase. With a mere five yards remaining, Helhesten crashed through the wall to their left, sending dust, bricks and various other building material flying, before it with improbable speed spun upon its three legs and came charging down the shadowy passage.

Angel grabbed Buffy around the shoulder and ignoring her protests, he shoved her into the aligning bathroom, shutting the door after her. He tightened his grip around the hilt of the sword and only just managed to raise the weapon before the demon crashed into him.

His back slammed against the floor and as the horse skull came hurtling down towards him, Angel brought the sword up before his fallen body, slamming it across the demons face. The strike sent it off-balance and it took a wobbling step sideways, the single foreleg hammering into the wooden floor an inch from Angel's shoulder. Pushing off with his legs, he scrambled frantically away from his unfortunate position underneath the horse's scrawny body. He could not see anything but the ever-moving, confusing black mass of the demon as it stood above him and the occasional patch of silvery-white ceiling, which flashed at him whenever it moved. The voices were screaming inside him again but he drowned them out, focused on the situation at hand.

Without being able to see clearly, Angel swung the sword at the black whirlwind that still had him pinned to the floor whenever it came close enough. Around him the hooves were striking an erratic drum against the floor and he twisted and turned to avoid them. Bringing the sword against the creature's head with brutal force, Angel rolled away and onto his feet yet had no time to steady himself before it came at him again. He slashed after its head, but just had the time to realize that it was not aiming for his head but for his lower body, before the pearly white jaws clasped shut around his thigh and he was swept off his feet. With implausible strength, Helhesten swung its head from side to side, and Angel was flung across the room, crashing into the wall at the far end with such force he felt it crumble around him. His body met the floor heavily and skidded to a halt upon reaching the wall at the far end of the room – which turned out to be Giles' bedroom. And now it came with an extra entrance and window to the corridor in one. Somehow, Angel doubted the former Watcher would be exultant about this.

The sword had slipped from his hand when Helhesten had chucked him through the wall, and, completely weapon-less, Angel watched the demon step into the room. He tried to get on his feet but could not help staring blankly at his right leg when it refused to cooperate. It was not his hip that had grabbed a reason for being fussy; it was not even that it hurt. It was more the fact that it did absolutely nothing. A strange numbness was spreading around the area where Helhesten's jaws had been locked tight, and he could not feel his leg.

A forgotten memory played foggily somewhere in Angel's mind. He remembered how the stable buck had once told Kathy that a horse had flat teeth, it was no predator but was suited the conditions of the grasslands. Kathy had come too close to the stroppy old mare and the herbivore had gashed her arm to the bone. Flat teeth or not.

Helhesten's voice whispered in his brain and he was brutally yanked back to the present.

'_An...ge...lus'_

Pale moonlight fell through the window behind Angel and painted Helhesten's white face in shadowy hues of grey. Light and shadow danced across the deep ridged nose as the demon stumbled across the bricks and dumps of building material that littered the floor. Its body melted into the darkness and Angel could only glimpse the outline of a shoulder or a hip when the pale light fell across it, silhouetting it against the faint gleam of the corridor.

A couple of steps from him, the demon paused, cocking its head at him in a birdlike manner.

'_Isn't it funny how you can close your eyes and after all these years still hear their screams?'_ The voice hissed inside him and a familiar freezing sensation began to grow around Angel's midriff. _'They never stopped, did they? Always screaming, never one voice rising above the others, just droplets in a never-ending ocean of despair.'_ Angel stared at the passive demon as it stood watching him, unmoving but for the eye sockets that slowly began to glow white. _'You screamed. For what? Why? For freedom, forgiveness? You still scream for it, inside. I know.' _

Angel scrambled to his feet with difficulty and took a hurried step backward, feeling his finger brush against something cold and smooth in the umbrella stand. Helhesten stepped forward, maintaining the distance between them.

'_Is that why you are so afraid of me?' _The eyes gleamed with an intensity Angel had not seen before. He fought not to give in to voice and concentrated upon the feeling of the hilt of a sword underneath his fingers. Good old Giles.

'_Because I can see those horrors, I know how to make you lose control._

'_Control. You fear to lose it. You know the string is tightening, that I could make it snap and that you would welcome it. Welcome the release from the pain and the fear and the guilt. And that frightens you. _

'_Strange. A creature of darkness fearing the loss of light.' _Helhesten took a limping step forward and Angel tightened his grip around the sword. _'Always doubting dreaming, fearing...' _The head drew back, the smooth movement more reminiscent of a snake than a bird. _'Fight and live. The night will eventually end. It's a short walk to daylight, Angelus. But you will have to walk it – alone.' _

The voice in his head fell silent and Angel threw himself to the side, drawing the sword and burying it in the demon's flank. It threw its head back and let out a penetrating scream, but spinning upon its feet it suddenly staggered backward as a bolt pierced its throat. Angel ran towards the hole in the wall without looking back, limping as his right leg still steadfastly refused to move, and Buffy smiled cruelly at him, as he joined her in the corridor.

'It's a whole lot easier to hit stuff with your eyes open.'

x

The car sprung to life with a roar as Buffy swiftly turned the keys and slamming the speeder to the floor, the vehicle dashed down the road. It was early evening but the storm was persevering and the streets were empty; lampposts cast their melancholy light across the tarmac that gleamed with water, and along the sidewalk, from shadow to shadow, Helhesten slipped forward. Never truly visible, never truly gone.

'Where would they have gone?'

Buffy jerked roughly at the steering wheel and the car skidded across an empty junction, the red light glaring accusingly after them as they took off again.

'The Regina Madre,' Buffy replied. 'It's been abandoned for a good thirty years and lies in an unpopulated area.'

Angel poked his leg tryingly, feeling nothing. 'Far?'

'Nah. Ten minutes.' She raced across another junction at red light. 'Or maybe five.'

Angel looked into his mirror and saw the shadowy form of the demon dash across the road. 'This has got to work.'

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**Author's Thanks: legolasgal, Wesfan1234 **(thank you so much! And it was even hard to write, so your review is even more appreciated. I hope I can keep it up :-)**, Tariq **(Thank you so much for your review! It is great that someone who has been here from the beginning of part 1 still bothers to let me know what they think :-)**, DDuck **(action to follow, which I think you realized, having read the chapter and all :-)**, shahid **(This time I'm not lying – Wes using magic will feature prominently in the next chapter! Still, hope you liked the chapter :-)**, Omar Mahmood **(Still, reviews are always great! So, thanks so much for the encouragement – especially since you're a BA too. There seems to be so few of us. Strange really.)**, AngelicDreams **and **nimwen.**

**Also to: a2zmom, Gwenyver, CF, spangelover, Edgechick, stephanierb, Uber Wicca, AlwaysHoldingOn** and those I might have forgotten :-)

Support and encouragement is everything.

**Author's notes: ** Okay, we're nearing the last couple of chapters which is why this chapter might have felt rushed or forced in places. Still, let me know what you think! Reviews are the things that keep a lazy writer going :-)


	15. The Ritual

Chapter 14: The Ritual

Author's thanks at end.

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'A dark unfathomed tide

Of interminable pride –

A mystery and a dream,

Should my early life seem:

I say that dream was fraught

With a wild and waking thought

Of beings that have been,

Which my spirit has not seen,

Had I let them pass me by,

With a dreaming eye!

Let none of the earth inherit

That vision of my spirit,

Those thoughts I would control,

As a spell upon his soul.'

- 'Imitation', Edgar Allen Poe

X

The clouds swirled, gushed and contracted in endless formations, transforming the leaden sky into a stormy ocean of black and grey. Black night covered the old church even though it was no more than early evening, and the heavy raindrops were painted in silvery tones as they were caught by the dancing, wobbling rays cast by the flash light.

The water had transformed the stone-laid passage to the church into a slippery, slimy sprained-ankle trap, the flat stones being half-lost in wild-growing vegetation that sprawled negligently across the path.

'Could this get any more of a cliché?' Xander shouted through the distant rumble of approaching thunder. He sounded exasperated and more than a little frustrated and Wesley could hardly blame him. None of them answered, all too busy carrying the specific apparatus and ingredients that were necessities in performing the ritual.

Wesley felt a strange pang of anticipation. There was no room for mistakes or minor miscalculations this time. No second try. And since this appeared to become a night of clichés – it was all or nothing, so to speak.

The front of the church rose before him, towering above his head like a lone giant among the pine trees to stand silhouetted against the blues, blacks and greys of the raging sky. Grass grew among the cracks in the marble stones of the front-porch and many coloured shards of glass littered the stone-steps that led to the front doors; the sorry remains of the high windows' glass mosaics.

Wesley dropped the box he held in his arms and mud spattered around it. Pulling his trench-coat tighter around his chest, he drew the lids aside, taking out a long knife whose sleek blade curved graciously from the hilt. Giles and Xander had paused beside him and were hurriedly dragging the lids off their boxes, the cardboard quickly saturating with the water. Willow stood behind him, her spell book underneath her jacket.

Wesley, still in a crouch, turned slightly so he was directly before the church and facing north. Using his free hand he brushed the dry needles aside and began to pull the grass up by hand.

When he was satisfied, he transferred the knife from his left hand to his right and reached into the box to produce a small phial containing a thick, dark liquid, which he placed carefully beside him. Standing, he looked to the north and extending his left hand, he drew the blade across his palm, sharp pain shooting through his arm as it pierced the skin. Extending his arm, he clenched his fist, allowing a few drops of blood to meet the waterlogged ground.

'Odin, krigeres konge, slagenes Gud' he muttered, sinking back into a crouch. 'Odin, King of Warriors,' he thrust the blade of the knife into the ground, drawing a deep ridge in the soil, north to south. 'God of Battle,' west to east, 'Master of Sleipnir – take thy sacrifice,' grabbing the phial in his left hand he emptied the horse-blood into the cross-formed trench, and the thick liquid disappeared into the soil, leaving the rainwater behind, like oil floating upon the surface of the ocean's waters. 'And grant him peace!' Immediately, a white light began to burn beneath the bottom of the trench, the otherworldly radiance shining through the soil, as had it been nothing but a thin layer of brown fabric.

Wesley scrambled to his feet and took a hasty step backwards.

Bemused, Spike glared at him. 'And what does that do?'

Wesley did not answer.

'What now?' Xander's voice was hoarse, betraying his apprehension.

'Now,' Wesley said, turning to the girl who stood pale with strands of red hair plastering to her face. 'Now, it's Willow's turn.'

'What do I do?' She met his eyes, determination etched into her every feature.

He stepper closer until they were shoulder to shoulder, allowing him to point to the particular phrase in the spell book she held in her hand.

'Read loud and clear,' he said through the rain, 'don't rush any of the words or I won't be able to follow you on the ground.'

'The portal has not yet been opened?' Giles had to yell and his voice was still hard to hear through the noise of the falling water.

'Not fully,' Wesley answered, stepping around the cross-shaped trench so he stood facing the others. 'I wanted Willow to be ready to utter the binding spell before I attempted to open the gate. This will construct an incorporeal shield, or filter, between the worlds that should trap the demons of this purgatorial world and make them physically incapable of passing. Otherwise, the sheer force of the immeasurable amount of energy being released by this - this artificial bridge we intend to construct between dimensions, would render us completely and utterly incapable of preventing any of the demonic spirits that may reside there of coming forth.' He paused upon seeing Xander's expression. 'Well, to cut a long story short -'

'Yeah, well,' Spike said resignedly. 'That's too late now.'

'No – no, we get it, we're cool,' Willow said.

'Good,' Wesley said and pulled out a small spell book from his vest pocket. 'Then here we go.'

x

'I can't see him anymore.'

Angel twisted in his seat to study his rear-view mirror. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'He'll come.'

Buffy pulled hard at the wheel and the vehicle danced around yet another corner at improbable speed. 'How can you be so sure?'

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angel look at her. She did not meet his eyes. First and foremost because, taking your eyes off the road when you are going at fifty miles per hour through the winding streets of Rome, featured on her Things Not to Do list.

Along with going on patrol without a wooden stake and kissing him again.

'He'll come,' Angel repeated, 'because he has no other choice. Wesley and Willow are doing a Summoning spell that should draw him there. Literally.'

'Sounds fun.'

He gave her a weird look. Through the darkness and the rain that lashed against her windshield, the massive, black outline of the abandoned church loomed closer, its façade illuminated in an eerie, ghostly-white light.

'We're here,' she said and pulled the car over.

The motor had not yet died when Angel spoke again. 'Do you have a jacket or something?'

Buffy looked down her colourful summer blouse.

'No. If you didn't notice, the whole Abandon Ship strategy happened rather too quickly for me to drop by the wardrobe for a quick change.'

He did not answer but simply took his own leather jacket off and handed it to her. 'Take this.'

'Why?'

'It's raining and you'll get cold.'

'You can take it.'

He did not flinch. She took the jacket.

And half of a minute later, she was very happy she had done so. The water fell upon her in cascades from the leaden sky, and she would have been soaked to the skin before she was halfway across the graveyard that played front garden to the church. Now, she would probably reach the building before she resembled a jumble of drenched rags, she thought glumly.

Old and worn gravestones littered the muddy ground; some had overturned and had become buried in wild growing vegetation. Through the noise of the falling rain, Buffy noticed that Angel's rhythm was wrong. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that he was limping, hardly putting his weight on his right leg.

'What's wrong?'

He looked at her. The rain had soaked his hair and it fell down before his forehead in uncharacteristic fashion. 'I'm fine.'

Somehow she seriously doubted that, but realizing that the time and setting was hardly perfect for a bit of doctoring, she turned back to her walking.

The others stood around a cross-shaped trench, the pallid silvery-white light that rose from it falling across their faces, carving the hollows around their eyes and cheeks deeply to leave them with a sinisterly skull-like appearance. By some supernatural force, the rainwater seemed to shun the mark carved in the dark soil, the droplets of water never touching the misty light.

Giles turned upon hearing them approach. 'Oh, Buffy. Good. Is – is he here?'

'Somewhere,' Buffy answered and paused beside the old Watcher to stare at the trench. 'That it?'

'No,' Wesley simply said. Willow proceeded with her soft chanting. Xander gave her an uncertain wave and she stared at him, which made him stop.

Suddenly Spike was beside her, and the vampire pushed the hilt of a sword between her fingers. 'Might wanna hold unto this, pet.'

He handed Angel a weapon too, this time in silence.

Wesley said a couple of words in a language she did not understand and Willow fell silent.

A sudden, hollow boom sounded from somewhere beyond the church's borders, and Buffy felt her heart skip a beat. She listened intently, but no other sound came.

For a moment only the hushing noise of the dying rain mixed with the slight whisper of the pine trees, when the wind pulled at the heavy boughs. Buffy tried in vain to slow her panting breathing which rushed in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. She shot Angel a nervous glance and he returned it, apprehension and uncertainty burning in his dark eyes.

Behind her, Spike shifted his weight uncomfortably. 'That was a fizz and a tickle. Doesn't look like the bloody donkey intends to show, though.'

Wesley had opened his mouth to reply when a racket erupted at the far end of the old building. Buffy turned her head to see the glass-mosaics of the window above the altar explode in a waterfall of many-coloured droplets of glass. As the shards of bright glass rained down over the stone altar, Helhesten's hooves met the ground with a hollow thump that resonated between the stone walls, the echo distorted by the thundering drum as the demon took off towards them.

'Looks pretty corporeal, doesn't it?' Spike furrowed his brows. 'Will this still work, then?'

'It better,' Wesley mumbled through clenched teeth.

A shadow of black smoke gushed underneath it, followed it across the stone-floor and its body melted into the darkness, only the eye sockets burning with a pallid gleam.

'Now!' Wesley yelled, and Buffy imitated Angel as he raised his sword before him, his fingers curling tighter around the hilt. A sharp 'chuck' sounded as Spike drove the knife into the soil, and the sound of rushing water or air rose, melting together with the combined mumblings of Wesley and Willow doing their individual spell-work. Buffy could feel the heat of the spell slam against her back, as though she was standing before an open oven and feeling the scorching heat that gushed from it. A blinding white light erupted behind her, throwing her own black shadow upon the ground at her feet, its head brushing against the lowest step of the marble stairs. A ripple ran through the soil and it had hardly subdued before the ground began to tremble underneath her feet; slowly, gently at first but soon the movement was so powerful she had to take a drunken sideways step to maintain her balance.

'Don't move!' Wesley's voice immediately bellowed, and Buffy was about to snap back when the world exploded in light and all sounds and smells died. She felt Angel's hand upon her arm but did not know whether her eyes were open or shut, there was only the white light which flooded her mind and cut off the world.

The world returned slowly and Buffy gradually became aware that it was not raining anymore. She also noticed her eyes were closed and she forced them open. Angel's fingers loosened and he released her arm, careful not to look at her as he did so.

The church and graveyard had been enveloped in a shimmering, indistinct orb of silvery light, and it was the only thing that was left of the world. Beyond the ethereal wall was only darkness. Beyond it, the world had been swallowed by nothingness.

Her blood thundered in her ears, and Angel caught her eyes. She knew he had sensed her distress. Between the heavy wooden doors of the church, hardly more than ten metres away, stood Helhesten. Where it hooves met the marble, the stone was scorched and blackened by the heat it was giving off. It tossed its head and long strands of black mane lashed around it; a hoarse snort escaped its missing nostrils and mist danced briefly before it for only to melt away into the night air.

Trusting Angel to watch her back, Buffy cast a short glance over her shoulder. No white light shot upward from the cross-shaped trench. Now, it appeared rather boundless, a never-ending blackness carved into the ground, and black fog swirled lazily from it. Willow was squeezing the spell book so tightly in her hands that her knuckles had gone ghostly white. Beside her, Giles and Xander stood staring at Helhesten with remarkably similar expressions on their faces and at the north point of the cross, Spike straightened his legs, pulling the knife from the ground as he did so. Wesley had begun speaking again, in Latin this time.

'Ab initio ad finem.' _From the beginning to the end._

'Abyssus abyssum invocat.' _Hell calls hell. _

'Monstrum horrendum, informe, cui lumen ademptum.' _A monster frightful, formless, with sight removed. _

'Ignifera.

'Ignigena.

'Ignipotens.'

_Fire-bearing, born of fire, ruler of fire._

'In articulo mortis abyssus abyssum invocat.' _At the point of death, hell calls hell._

'Ab origine ad finem.' _From the origin to infinity. _

'Amen.' _So be it._

'Amen!' _So be it! _

The last word was shouted into the night and as if by command, a ray of white light shot upward from the middle of the cross, dashing towards the dark sky, but upon connecting with the mythical shield a hissing and spitting of electricity sounded, and the light rippled along the shimmering surface in every direction.

Buffy glanced at Wesley, who seemed much too occupied with staring bemusedly at the ray of light to notice her. 'Please tell me it's supposed to do that!'

The white light travelled across the orb and met the ground and for a short moment nothing happened.

Helhesten screamed at them, a stench of rotten flesh slamming against them as the skeletal jaws were clenched apart. It took a wobbling step sideways, its movement hindered by the otherworldly light cast by the binding-spell's shield.

Beside her, Angel gave a strange shake of his head and further back, Spike was slamming his palm repeatedly against his temple.

'Shut up,' he whispered. 'Shut up...'

'Buffy. Angel. Get out of the way.' The fact that Giles sounded like he was telling them to move slowly to prevent a snake from striking struck Buffy as mordantly apt. Their situation considered.

She took a careful step backward and Helhesten's face lashed around to hers. Remembering to jam her eyelids down just before their eyes met, she continued to back blindly until she felt Giles' hand upon her shoulder. A wordless whispering had begun in her head, like the wind playing among the trees' leaves in autumn.

A hollow gurgle erupted deep in the trench, and out of the corner of her eye Buffy noticed, she was not the only one who was staring. The ray of light contracted and slowly melted away, shadows of ghostly figures rising arduously from the darkness of the trench for only to evaporate into the darkness once more.

Helhesten's piercing, otherworldly scream filled the night, reverberating between the walls of the insubstantial orb, and Buffy turned her head so quickly she felt her neck cringe. The demon was tossing its head in fury as it body was dragged towards the portal by the spell, and upon lowering her eyes Buffy saw the furrows its hooves had left in the wet soil.

Spike was now hammering his hand openly against his head and Angel's eyes had become distant.

Xander, Willow and Giles, and much to Buffy's dismay, herself, hurried backwards and Wesley followed slowly, murmuring incantations until his voice was no more than a steady stream of unintelligible words and jumbled phrases.

Angel stepped aside to allow Helhesten full frontal view of its ride to hell. He could hardly pretend he was feeling particularly sad about it. The demon saw the portal glide nearer and it screamed again; rising unto its hind legs it lashed after Angel, Spike, the approaching darkness, and slowly the scream turned from being a shrill, demonic cry to the hoarse, high-pitched grunt of panicking horse. Inside Angel's head the voice was whispering again.

'..._Don't you see?..._

'_Why won't you see?..._

'_Do you not like what you see?..._

'..._You live a dream...a futile hope...a lie...'_

Angel blinked and bit hard down upon his lower lip, the pain bringing him back to the present.

As Helhesten stood balancing the spell kept drawing it nearer, and it threw its weight backwards as though it believed that it could free its body from the grip that steadily closed around it. It kicked and screamed and tossed its head, whilst Wesley's chanting grew more and more prominent.

'It's not gonna bloody work!' Spike yelled.

Angel doubted, too. Despite using magic that was stronger than any of them had ever experimented with before, it was simply not enough to trap this thing.

'Maybe this is the time for the 'best brute force in the field'!' he shouted back.

From the opposite side of Helhesten's track, Spike smirked at him.

'That's still gettin' you in a knot? Well, if you wanna go and push the soddin' thing to kingdom come, be my guest. Not too enthusiastic myself, actually.'

Helhesten was a good ten metres from the edge of the ditch, and it struggled to regain its footing; its hooves slipped repeatedly in the mud, but it stubbornly kept pushing away, working against the spell and Angel noticed how it fought to catch Wesley's eyes.

'Well,' he tightened his grip on the sword. 'We'll just have to do it this way then.'

A horse's strength lies in its hindquarters, and so he did not aim for the head or the body, but for the hindlegs. The blade sliced through dead tendons and muscle and had reached the bone before the demon registered what was happening. Its head lashed around to his with a scream, and in a flurry of movement and physical force it propelled itself towards him and was a mere metre from him, when Spike's sword met the side of its face. In the midst of its attack, it changed tactic, its jaws clasping shut about Spike's arm instead and with a violent toss of its head, it sent the vampire's body flying to the opposite end of the graveyard.

Angel jumped forward but the demon dodged his blow and he flung himself to the ground to avoid its swinging skull. Rolling aside so its hoof met nothing but soil, Angel leapt to his feet but realized too late that he was a beat too slow, and Helhesten's skull sent him flying into a nearby monument, the stone crumbling at the impact. It charged at him but staggered sideways mid-stride, as the bullets struck its face. Angel hurriedly got to his feet, feeling the skin around his forehead stretch as he morphed, and glowered at Wes, who was busy reloading his gun.

'Thank you so much for taking the time to place a silencer on your gun!' he snarled in frustration.

Wesley frowned at him. 'We can't wake the entire neighbourhood,' he said.

'No,' Angel grumbled sarcastically, dodging the demon's next blow. 'We couldn't have that.'

In one fluid movement, he flung himself to the ground, one hand closing around the sword's smooth hilt and the other picking up a large rock, a sorry remain of the former monument, which he hurled into the demon's face. It hissed and spluttered in anger and Angel took advantage of its momentary distraction to plunge the blade into Helhesten's emaciated neck.

And that was when his mind betrayed him. His brain was so busy with working out how many times he had done that to realize that maybe he should have moved. Helhesten's teeth dug into his arm and suddenly Angel realized he was hurtling towards the portal, dragged along by the demon's firm grip around his lower arm. He kicked it across the face but the jaws remained locked.

'_Always, always doubting, dreaming, fearing...'_

Somewhere, Buffy was screaming but the world was only a blur of colour and sound; only Helhesten's nightmarish face leered at him, as he yanked the sword free and brought the weapon against the skull again and again, its white eyes burning in the darkness.

'_You see? There is no redemption, no hope, no life for those deemed unworthy of it. What do you have left to fight for?'_

The ground rushed under Angel's feet and as the portal glided nearer, it widened, swallowing the world around it.

'_There is no light for those condemned to darkness, Angel. You know it. It's a short walk to daylight, but one you will never make.'_

And suddenly Helhesten's form slipped across the edge of the boundless chasm that opened before him, the scurry of movement and the whispering voice muting immediately, as though someone had turned the sound off or he had gone deaf. The white light glimmered brighter than before in its empty eye sockets, and Angel realised it was never going to let go.

Of course, cutting your own hand off is never nice, but when it came down to either that or going to hell to spend eternity with a demon, he really did not like that much in the first place, Angel knew what he preferred. He swung the sword towards his own limb and was prepared for the pain he knew would follow, when he felt a sharp tug at the back of his neck and his arm was pulled forcefully from Helhesten's grasp. His body slammed hard against the ground and sound and feeling returned.

Ruffled voices cut through the circling mist of his befuddled brain, and he realized it was raining.

_Hey, we've already done this! _a small voice screamed at the back of his mind and Angel smiled, eyes still closed. Déjà vu. A fault in the Matrix.

Or maybe not. He was pretty certain Wes had not been there then.

And Spike had certainly _not_.

He opened his eyes. The insubstantial orb had disappeared and he was staring into a dark, stormy sky, heavy droplets of rain striking his face.

Dark and stormy. Gee, these guys really did come with a manual.

The ground shook with running footsteps. 'Angel!' Buffy slumped down beside him, strands of blonde hair plastered across her cheek and his leather jacket soaked by the rain. She ran a hand down the side of his face and smiled in relief. 'How' you feeling?'

He smiled back and raised both of his hands before his face, wiggling his fingers. 'Good,' he answered, remembering with mortification to shift into his human visage. 'And intact.'

She looked slightly puzzled by this. 'I've heard mud is good for the skin, but I don't really know whether that goes for leather jackets as well...you might wanna -'

Angel got to his feet. They all stared at him.

'What happened?'

Wesley was staring hypnotically at the spot of bare earth where the portal had been only seconds before, and it was Buffy who answered. 'I think the whole 'sending-demon-to-Hell' deal was quite close to become a rather personal experience for you.'

Spike was lighting a cigarette. 'Yeah, mate, you were about to go all 'goodbye Dorothy' on us.'

'So I stabbed the demon in the last possible moment – behold: no sword –' Buffy waved her empty hands at him. '- and you dump out of nowhere just as the portal closes.'

Ignoring the fact that it still did not make perfect sense, Angel's glance swept over the sorrow, rain-drenched party. 'But you're all okay?'

Willow was clutching her spell book feverishly and Xander was pale and abnormally silent. Giles had his glasses off and were cleaning them, apparently oblivious to the fact that it was raining and that his efforts really did not make a difference. Wesley shifted his glance to allow it to rest on Angel.

'We're all fine,' he said. 'We shouldn't be but -'

'Hey!' Buffy stared at him. 'Give it a break with the guilt trip, will you?'

The former Watcher smiled at her and did not answer.

'So – we c-can go back now?' Willow bit her lower lip in uncertainty. 'Home, I mean. Or well, Giles' home anyway.'

'Yes,' the older man answered. 'For the moment at least.'

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

**Author's notes: **The last chapter coming up where I will try to tie up the loose ends. But please tell me what you thought of this :-)

**Author's thanks: **To all of my wonderful, brilliant reviewers :-)

**Nimwen **(Thank you so much! I love Poe as well.) **UberWicca **(Thank you sooo much! And the Buffy/Angel bits were hard to write, complicated with all the stuff they have incorporated into the series which needed credible explanation. God, I'm going to do a Buffy s.2 fic next! That can't be as hard on a poor BA writer, can it? Glad you liked the Spike-bits, by the way. I really love writing him! Oh, and Wes does look nice with a gun, doesn't he!) **Wesfan1234 **(Thank you so much!! I'm glad you think this is improving – the worst is always loosing ones readers at the end :-) Well, let me know what you thought of this!) **spangelover **(Best stories? Wow. Thanks so much!) **Omar Mahmood **(I know! I can't understand why there's so many Spuffy's around. Kinda sad really, considering just how wrong it is. Not surprising that we have so many divorce cases. People obviously doesn't know what is good for them :-) **AngelicDreams **(Climax here. Hope you liked it!) **Gwenyer **(Thanks so much for your review! Always nice to know you're still reading and liking :-) **shahid **(Thanks so much!! Hope you liked the Wes bits in this!!) **Ares **(Hi there :-) Thanks so much for your review, hope I didn't let you down!) **Tariq **(Thanks as always! Great to still have you here :-) **Stephanierb **(Hope I didn't let it all down in the final minute! Still, thanks so much for your review!) **Edgechick816** (Hi again! I was afraid I'd lost you. I seem to be quite good at that...never liked Kennedy much either, a bit like how I can't stand Dawn. I guess that means she will be next! Well, thanks so much for reviewing!)

**And all the rest!! **Thanks so much for helping me break the one hundred reviews mark and making this a better story in the process.


	16. Closed eyes

Chapter 15: Closed Eyes

Author's thanks at end.

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'My world was on fire and no one could save me but You

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

I never dreamed I that would love somebody like You

And I never dreamed I that would lose somebody like You

No, I don't want to fall in love

_This world is only gonna break your heart_

No, I don't want to fall in love

_This world is only gonna break your heart_

With You.'

- 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak

X

In the end it was not thoughts of worthiness or of humanity that made the difference. It was not dreams of a world with lesser evil or of triumphs over evil, but her. His hope was not futile, his fight not a false illusion as long as she was there. As long as Buffy was in the world, there was a reason to keep fighting. As long as Buffy was there, he had a reason to believe in a better world.

Angel wondered whether she knew. Maybe she did. Maybe she did not.

He was no longer certain it even mattered. Perhaps he would tell her someday.

Angel had found it best to spend the drive home ensuring Giles that Wolfram and Hart would cover all costs of the damages that the demon had inflicted upon his property. And still the Watcher fell threateningly silent upon seeing his front door occupying the middle of the dark street, and his mood hardly improved as he followed the neat route Helhesten had laid throughout the house by mowing straight through wall after wall.

'Zoey!' Xander remarked breathlessly, as he stared into the study from the living room where Helhesten had burned straight through the wall.

'Trendy,' Buffy nodded in accord.

Willow padded the former Watcher comfortingly on the shoulder. 'Positive thinking is the key to success,' she said. Giles just stared in shocked silence. 'Now it'll be much quicker for you to get a book when you need it.'

'Red's right,' Spike said. 'Much more practical, really.' He had placed a cigarette between his teeth and flicked the lighter, when Angel plucked it out of his mouth. 'Oi!'

'Don't smoke,' Angel said and pocketed the cigarette, ignoring the younger vampire's articulate grimaces and gestures. 'And go get the front door.'

Spike stared at him for a second, his expression clearly saying he did not believe Angel could be serious. 'No, no, no,' he shook his head. 'No soddin' way. The bleedin' pony bites me bloody arm half off and you want me to play Bob the bleedin' Builder? No chance, Peaches.'

'Wimp,' Angel scoffed.

Spike looked delighted. 'Tossing nonce!'

'Enough!' Giles yelled. 'Or you can join the darn door!'

'I'll make tea,' Willow said, sudden and shrilly, and Angel saw the look Buffy shot her. Willow waved her hands as if to say 'Well you didn't do anything!' before disappearing into the now door-less kitchen.

From his spot in one of the chairs, Xander suddenly became alive. 'And I'll go and get doughnuts!'

'Oi! And Scotch!' Spike exclaimed and Angel glared at him. 'No party's a party without excess alcohol, Peachy-dear.'

Wesley had slumped into one of the chairs, his eyes closed and his fingers gently massaging the area underneath his eyes. Giles had disappeared upstairs, probably to change into something dry.

The door was not particularly enthusiastic about being placed back on its hinges and did its best to convince Angel that it did not fit in the frame. However, a violent jerk later, which resulted in tiny flakes of white paint and dust drizzling down upon him from the ceiling, Angel turned and headed back into the living room. He had hardly stepped into the room, before he felt Spike's hand upon his arm.

'Is it supposed to do that?' He was no longer wearing his long leather duster but a dark tight-fitting T-shirt, and as he held his arm forward, Angel saw how the flesh had blackened around the ghostly white markings of Helhesten's teeth. Frowning, Angel pulled the sleeve of his blouse aside to expose similar markings on his own arm. There was no sign of the demon's teeth having pierced the skin, only the pearly white markings surrounded by black, and the muscle had gone numb.

Wesley stepped up beside him. 'Intriguing,' he muttered.

Buffy wrinkled her nose at the former Watcher. 'Gross,' she corrected him. 'What is it?'

'Uh...' Angel managed. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

'Will it go away?' Spike glowered at Wesley as though it was his fault.

'I can't really tell, before I know, what it is,' the other answered bluntly.

Spike glared at him for a moment. Then he strode to the table, grabbed a book and slammed it against the Watcher's chest. 'Then work it out.'

Wesley yanked the book out of the vampire's hands, shot him a withering look, and dropped down in a chair without a word.

'Well,' Buffy crossed her arms before her uncertainly. 'I think some dry clothing would be nice. So...you guys just sit tight, and, and I'll be back.' After a fleeting glance at Angel, she turned and ran up the stairs. He watched her go, listened to the rhythm of her steps, memorizing. Willing himself to remember. They would have to leave for LA early in the morning. The minutes were ticking by, drawing the moment where he would have to let her go again closer, ever closer.

He knew it, and yet the mere thought of it froze him from within.

'Ah!'

He blinked. 'What?'

Wesley turned another page. 'Well, according to these texts, all who set sight upon or touch Helhesten will die before the following dawn.'

Spike did not look as though this gave him reason to cheer. 'I seriously hope there's a twist ending to this.' And when Wesley still did not speak: 'So?'

Wesley smiled dryly. 'Technically, you are both dead.'

'And discoloured, pal!' Spike snapped acidly, throwing out an arm.

'You could always try some of the stuff you abuse your hair with,' Angel suggested.

'You're such a twit.'

Angel turned to Wesley. 'So, what is it?'

Wesley stood up, carefully pulling his wet overcoat off. 'Technical version?' He walked into the tiny reception hall and hung it beside Spike's coat. 'Helhesten has infected you. What appears black is in fact scorched muscle, and had you been mortal this would have taken a couple of hours to spread throughout your body.' Calmly, he strode through the room, slumping into the small couch. 'However, since you are demons yourselves with advanced regenerative powers, and dare I say it, no beating heart to pump the infection around your body in your blood, you should be absolutely fine in a week or two.'

Angel and Spike exchanged a look. Angel did not know what to think of this, but then Spike shrugged. 'Hell, that works for me.'

A loud slam made them all jump and spin around, but Angel relaxed upon seeing Xander's face in the door. 'Doughnuts!' he announced gleefully. 'Er...and I think I kinda took the front door off again...'

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Buffy sat upon the floor with her eyes closed, the knees pulled up before her and with her back against the cool, plain surface of the wall. The corridor was dark and no light struck her closed lids, allowing her to sit in utter blackness, just breathing.

_In._

_Out._

_In._

God, she was a fool.

_Out_.

What was she thinking? Because that was really the problem. She was not. Why else would she allow that tiniest flicker of hope to live inside?

_Breathe_.

One would think she had been through enough, that _he_ had put her through enough, to keep her from trusting in the hope ever again. Then why did she still miss him so much? Why did she still feel sick when she thought of him and he was not there?

And why, God why, could she not tell him when he was?

She was a fool, and proof was the fact that she was still in love with Angel. She still wanted to touch him, to be with him, to hear him say her name. To see him.

'_Stop it!_' she hissed, slamming her palms against her forehead, and was not too surprised when it did not help. From below, a cosy, muffled humming of activity travelled through the floorboards, and Buffy slowly opened her eyes. The corridor was still dark and empty. Where it curved around a corner a couple of metres from her, faint light from the stairway a further dozen or so metres down spilled across the floor and struck the opposite wall. For a moment Buffy stared at the passive, peach-coloured hues as they were swallowed by the shadows trying to reach her. The light could not reach her; the layers of shadow and darkness ran too deep to be passed.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. Sighing, she pushed herself onto her feet and stood for a moment feeling the soft carpet's gentle touch against her bare feet. She had to go. Angel would be gone in a matter of hours. She would not let him go without a proper farewell.

She turned around the corner and ran straight into some tall person's chest.

'Angel.'

He stood with his back to the faint light and most of his face was shrouded in shadow, making it hard for her to read his expression. He looked down and swallowed.

'We're leaving in an hour,' he said quietly. 'For L.A.'

She looked at his bowed head. 'I didn't think you meant McDonalds.' The moment the words left her, Buffy desperately wanted to kick something. Why did she always do that? Say things that hurt him to cover the fact that she was breaking apart inside. That she was hurting so much she could not think clearly.

He did not look at her, and she felt her eyes beginning to burn. 'I'm so screwed up, Angel.'

Now he did meet her glance, and his dark eyes bored into hers, asking without speaking.

Buffy felt empty inside. 'I can't even say 'don't go' anymore.'

For a moment that felt like years, Angel stood there as though he was afraid of how she would react. But when his arms slowly drew her into a hug, she closed her eyes and willingly allowed her body to fall against his. She did not know for how long they stood like that. Angel just allowed her to stand, his arms around her, and from time to time she felt him let out a shaking breath.

'Angel?' Her whisper was so low she doubted that even he would hear it. Yet he did, his eyes meeting hers as she ran a caressingly hand down the side of his face. 'You look older.'

'You look sadder,' he just replied, and something gave a painful jolt in her chest.

From his eyes, her fingers trailed his cheekbone, drawing the line between the faint light that brushed over his pale skin and the deeper shadows that rested by his cheek, until they reached his lips and paused. He narrowed his eyes in doubt.

Perhaps this was the wrong thing to do, but right now she could not have cared less. Buffy shifted her hand so it rested by his jaw, and tilting her head, her lips brushed against his, the touch light and uncertain. A tremble went through him and he responded, one of his hands travelling to the side of her face to brush against her cheek, his mouth seizing hers, carefully and passionately. Buffy closed her eyes and allowed everything but her and Angel to disappear, to be swallowed by all the evil that meant nothing right now. The world meant nothing. There was only her and Angel.

He broke it off and she remembered she had to breathe. It was strange how she always seemed to forget trivial details like that because of him. She felt Angel's face brush against her hair, his voice a ruffled, husky mumble. 'God, Buffy, you feel...'

Burning warmth and an icing numbness was fighting for possession of her body. A tear ran down her cheek and Buffy closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his chest. 'You have to leave?' She did not know why she asked; she knew what the answer would be anyway.

'Yes.' It came short and sharp, as though he did not have enough air to speak.

Buffy fell silent at this, knowing he had no choice. Her thoughts were chasing themselves in ever smaller circles of grey and white, making her dizzy. The words left her mouth before she had finished debating the thought in her muddled mind. 'Angel? Can I come with you?'

Angel pulled away at this, studying her face with a confused look in his dark eyes. 'I thought...'

Buffy cocked her head, attempting a smile. She felt pretty confident that she failed miserably. 'I'm not the only slayer anymore, so it's hardly the twenty-four seven gig it used to be. Good thing 'cause it got a bit of a drag in the end, too.'

Blinking, he took a short step backward, looking completely wrong-footed. 'You would – you could do that?'

'Sure. Warm weather, alcohol and fast cars –' she frowned at her own words '- all...of...which...I can get here – but never mind. What's not to like?'

Angel stepped up to her again, a coy smirk playing upon his face. 'And a fortieth-floor, centrally heated office?'

Buffy recognised her own words and rolled her eyes. 'Am I _ever_ going to live that one down?'

Angel tilted his head, and gave a small, playful shrug. 'Nope.'

'Kiss me,' she said and smiled at him. Angel's face split into the first, real smile she had seen since he arrived in Rome.

'Happy to oblige,' he managed huskily before their lips met again.

In Buffy's stomach the butterflies resumed their energetic jig, and she felt Angel's hands around her arms as he pulled her closer. She snuggled closer to him, suddenly desperate to feel his body against her own, and Angel's hand found the ribbon that forced her hair back in a pony tail and pulled it off. Buffy felt her back connect with the smooth surface of the corridor's wall, which was a bit surprising since she had not even realised that she had moved. The kiss was deepening, becoming hungrier, and Buffy just had time to register that she was frantically unbuttoning Angel's shirt, when he darted backwards, slamming forcefully against the adjacent wall, which came quicker than he had anticipated.

'We can't,' he mumbled, hurried breaths stumbling over themselves in rapid succession.

Half of Buffy's mind was pondering just how her blouse suddenly had manoeuvred itself off her left arm. The other was slowly realizing what Angel was saying. 'What?'

'Willow,' he managed. 'You can't leave her, not now.'

_Not after what happened. _

Angel closed his eyes and Buffy could see the mental war that waged inside his mind. 'They need you.'

The butterflies were quickly giving way to the freezing numbness. 'More than you?'

The question hurt him, she knew it would, and he looked down, biting his lower lip, the light from behind him blazing fleetingly in his dark eyes, as he laid his head back to stare into the ceiling, his manner an image of defeat.

'No,' he finally said, and the answer surprised her. 'But your place is with them.'

Something inside her wanted to scream at him, cry, yell, hit, for telling her what she had to do, what she could not do. What she could not have.

Yet, somewhere deep within her mind a little voice of reason whispered in her ear and Buffy realized that she could not argue with what he was saying.

'So,' she tried, fighting the choking sensation that was rising in her throat making her unable to breathe properly for not to mention speaking. 'Can I come and visit sometime?'

He was crying now, too, she could hear it in his breathing. 'Buffy...' he pleaded desolately, though she was not too certain for what. Angel did not move as she closed the distance between them, her eyes never releasing his. The breaths were catching in her throat, reducing her breathing to near inaudible sobs, but she did not care. She stepped close enough for her to lean her forehead carefully against his muscular chest, and grabbing his arms she drew them around her waist in an embrace. Angel did not pull away.

Slowly, Buffy began to realize the growing noise of voices rising from below.

'You...you have to go,' she murmured, not wanting to let him go.

'I know.'

Angel placed a careful kiss upon her shoulder and Buffy raised her head, her eyes catching his before their lips meeting again. The kiss was lighter this time, slower. Now, they were calling her as well.

'We ought to -'

'No...' Angel leaned his forehead against the top of her head and remained standing like that for a long while. 'I love you,' he whispered finally. His arms loosened as Buffy's head jerked upward to catch his eyes. Suddenly she could breathe again, although it only lasted for a moment before something else, a different feeling, rose in her throat.

'I love you,' she echoed sincerely, her voice refusing to rise above a whisper. He closed his eyes and a trembling breath escaped him.

'I have to go,' he said, though he sounded anything but insistent. When she said nothing, he turned and started down the corridor, and he had almost reached the top of the stairs before Buffy found her voice.

'Tell Wes I'm sorry,' she said quietly.

He paused and turning around, he tilted his head in confusion. 'You're not coming down?'

'If you thought I would, you wouldn't have sought me out an hour before you were due to leave,' she just replied.

The light spilled across his face, the shadows changing as his eyes narrowed. 'Yes, I would,' he said, and for a moment he just stood there looking at her. 'What about Spike?'

Buffy felt the shadow of a smile cross her face. 'He'll prefer it this way too. Trust me.'

Outside, a car engine went on with a roar.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x x -

'Everything sorted and loaded and ready for takeoff, Captain Forehead.'

The bleached blonde vampire seemed in good cheer and had used the occasion to stuff a cigarette between his teeth again. Angel stepped awkwardly into the street, only too aware of Giles' hard glare. He walked up to Wesley who was busy readjusting equipment and bags on the back seat, when Willow's hand upon his arm made him pause.

Angel stared into her large eyes, wondering whether she intended to land a punch across his face. Yet, she did not look as though that was her objective.

'I'm sorry, Willow.'

She just nodded and drew him into a hug. Pulling free, she adjusted her sweater self-consciously. 'It's okay, really. I-I mean, it wasn't your fault so don't feel so bad. And I can do magic again, like really big stuff and I didn't lose control...' She trailed off and lowered her eyes. 'But then, you saw...so I'll just shut up now.' Recognising her former trademark shyness, Angel hugged her again and slowly her shoulders relaxed.

'Goodbye,' she murmured and stepped away from him. 'So...Buffy's not coming down – to-to say bye?'

Angel lowered his glance, feeling Spike's and Giles' eyes burn holes in his forehead. To his utter bewilderment, it was Xander who came to his rescue.

'Sorry, about the whole betrayal-thing.' He smiled awkwardly, clapping his hands together repeatedly as his eyes darted everywhere but Angel's face. Angel got the sincere impression it was either Buffy or Willow who had put him up to it.

'It's cool,' he answered.

The young man nodded. 'Good. But I would probably do the same thing again.'

Angel shrugged. 'Figured.'

Giles merely gave a formal nod of his head, and Angel turned towards their vehicle, sensing the approach of dawn in the fresh air. Willow shook hands with Wesley.

'You're good enough, you know.' She flashed him that broad smile that had used to be so common, and Wesley's lips carved upwards in return

'Thanks,' he said, but Angel knew that he was aware that Willow's gratitude ran deeper than words. She turned to Spike as the two former Watchers shook hands approvingly, and Angel disappeared into the car.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

From the house, the airport was no more than a short hour's drive away. Wesley sat at the wheel with Spike comfortably slumped in the passenger's seat, though the Watcher by some supernatural force had succeeded in preventing the vampire from smoking. Instead, the younger demon was passing time by playing with the vehicle's radio, occasionally coming across something that made Wesley groan and say something, which as a rule had no effect whatsoever.

A familiar tune rolled off the stereo and as if by reflex, Spike's voice immediately joined in.

''_I get around round round get around...''_

Angel sat in the back, silent. He had not looked at the house as they took off and the building disappeared around a corner. He did not participate in the two others' hectic karaoke, which was rapidly spiralling into a frenzied battle of the voices, but was too busy with brooding to even notice what they were actually singing.

''_My buddies and me are getting real well known_

_Yeah, the bad guys know us and leave us alone.''_

His mind was elsewhere, his thoughts lingering with a blonde slayer who had not forgotten him.

Who had not lost faith in him.

Whom he still loved so much, he hurt inside.

'_Are you still my Angel?'_

_The light had caught the path left behind by her tears, and her eyes had been uncertain as they had bored into his, searching, pleading._

_Years ago, lifetimes ago, he had asked her similarly and he had smiled as he remembered her reply. _

'_Always.' And with that he had turned and walked away and she had not spoken again. _

__

''_None of the guys go steady cause it wouldn't be right_

_To leave their best girl home now on Saturday night._

_I get around.''_

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Charles Gunn sat upon the edge of the desk in the office of the law firm's CEO, watching as Angel paced the width of his office, his steps slow and arduous, whilst he ruffled through the large stack of papers in his hand. Wesley was sitting relaxed and comfortable on the couch, albeit with a slightly exhausted expression upon his face. Angel had noticed the reprehensive glare the former watcher had shot him upon stepping into the law firm's polished entrance hall, reminding Angel that he knew what had happened. People had been scurrying to and fro, the entire place buzzing with hectic activity, and Angel found nothing to indicate the fact that he had been gone for the better part of two weeks. Nothing, but a larger pile of papers upon his desk.

'So, it all worked out, huh?'

Angel did not look up but left it for Wesley to answer Gunn.

'Eventually.'

Gunn sounded relieved. 'Good, 'cos I had a right ball supervising our Italian division and making sure the whole deal was covered up nice and neatly.'

The couch squealed in high-pitched protest as Wesley laboriously pushed himself to his feet. 'Is – Fred still here?'

A moment of pointed silence went by before Gunn answered. 'Left an hour or so ago. Probably won't mind a bust in, though, if you're the one doing the bustin'.'

Angel stared out of the windows and not at the others, as Wesley's footsteps sounded behind him, before they paused at the door. 'I will see you two at work tomorrow.'

'Bet on it,' Gunn answered, his voice followed by the sharp snap as the doors slammed shut.

'So,' the black man began. 'All back to normal now?'

Angel frowned at this. The sun was setting and the last glow of its dying fire crept across the endless ocean of rooftops that extended as far as he could see, bathing them in the same orange gleam that engulfed the evening sky. He had not seen a sunset in two weeks, had not seen sunlight in weeks, and yet he did not see it now. His mind wandered and he saw her face in the setting sun and her voice echoed in his soul.

_'I wanted to be with you again, when sometime in the future we'd both worked out how this world works and seen all the aspects of vampire and demon slayage that are really worth seeing. The suburbia-placed slayer-vampire couple; kinda cute, huh?'_

_ 'Can I come with you?' _

_ She raises her head and the golden gleam falls across her beautiful face, burning in her hazel eyes and the shining path the tears have carved down the cheek. 'I love you.' Something gives a painful jolt in his chest and for a short moment he could have sworn he feels his heart beat. He wants to hold her and never ever let go again. Never leave her again._

'No,' Angel muttered, feeling a strange lightness to his soul. Gunn flashed a confused look at him. Everything was not the same, because he was not alone anymore. The Shanshu did not matter anymore, because he had Buffy, his only saving grace, the only path to redemption he had ever truly believed in. The only person he had ever loved, the only person who could make him believe even when he had lost all faith.

And somehow things would work out.

'No,' he repeated staring once more out at the setting sun and feeling a slow smile creep across his face. 'Everything's different.'

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'_Close your eyes, give me your hand_

_Do you feel my heart beating, do you understand?_

_Do you feel the same, am I only dreaming?_

_Is this burning an eternal flame?_

_I believe it's meant to be_

_I watch you when you are sleeping, you belong with me_

_Do you feel the same, am I only dreaming_

_Or is this burning an eternal flame?_

_Say my name, sun shines through the rain_

_A whole life so lonely, and then you come and ease the pain_

_I don't want to lose this feeling'_

- 'Eternal Flame' by Bangles

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**Author's thanks: **to all those who reviewed! **Nimwen, Wesfan1234 **(wrap up here. Hope you liked it :-) Thanks so much for your support, you have been absolutely magical!!)**, kargrif **(Thanks so much! I love new reviewers :-)**, stephanierb **(thanks so much for your continuing support! I hope I have answered your questions :-), **AngelicDreams, legolasgal, Omar Mahmood **(I would love to do a season 6, I have just been afraid that there were so many of them already that nobody would read...well, I promise I'll give it a shot for your sake! Thanks so much for the support!), **UberWicca** (thanks so much! I would actually love to do another part, turn it into a trilogy...I was just afraid I was going to bore someone to death :-), **shahid** (thanks so much for your review and for your continuing support of this story!), **a2zmom** ( I thought about the whole witch-Willow thing, but since we know she has had problem with controlling it before, I think she and Wesley agreed it would be better if he took the tougher deal. Considering the death of Kennedy, which might wind her up a bit :-) Thanks so much for your review, and your brilliant comments throughout this story!).

**A/N: **the song at end of chapter is 'I get Around' by the Beach Boys and I really don't own that either, if you wondered...

Epilogue coming up.


	17. Epilogue & Author's Thanks

Epilogue:

_A week later._

The sheets ruffled as Wesley turned to the woman who was lying next to him. He placed a light kiss upon her cheek and her eyes fluttered open.

'How are you?' he whispered, and her lips parted in a wide, happy smile.

'Very nice,' she murmured, her smile tingeing her voice. Wes could not help but smile back.

'So am I,' he answered. Allowing his shoulder to sink back against the mattress, Fred turned onto her side so he was only inches from her face and her fingers brushed over his chest in a path of strange formations.

'_So_,' she purred. 'What should we do now?'

_x_

He had found a desolated table, which had been placed appropriately in a shadowy corner where the soft glow of the bar's few lamps did not quite reach. Empty glasses and bottles littered nearby tables, their former employees chatting informally at the bar's desk and a gentle tune was spreading from invisible speakers into the room.

He closed his eyes and sighed, allowing his muscles to relax and his mind to go blank. Just sitting.

'Looks like someone's havin' a party.'

Angel did not open his eyes. 'Go away, Spike.'

Spike slumped down in the chair opposite him, completely indifferent to Angel's request. Somehow Angel was not surprised. 'They got too noisy for you to finish your brooding in your soddin' office?'

Angel slowly opened his eyes but failed to answer. Spike downed a good portion of his beer in one swig.

'Do you still have the dreams?'

Spike's dark eyes locked with Angel's and for a moment he sat without answering. 'Yes,' he finally said and placed the bottle hard down upon the table.

Angel nodded, dimly wondering what had made him ask.

'So,' Spike began, having cast a disappointed glance at Angel's empty glass. 'What d'you dream?'

'None of your business.'

'No need to get defensive, Peaches. Interested, that's all.'

'What do _you_ dream?' Angel shot back with a glare.

Spike gave a small shrug and placing his booted feet upon the table, he rocked the chair back on its hind legs. 'It changes slightly every time, but the outcome is always the same. You know the deal, darkness, fire, walls that close in aruond you. Sometimes, I'm blind too. But the point of it all being that I'm back in Hell.'

Angel sat for a while in muted shock. 'Damn, you weren't supposed to answer.'

Spike flaunted that arrogant smirk at him. 'An eye for an eye, Peaches.'

Angel ran a finger round the top of his glass. 'Mine are nearly always different...' He trailed off.

'You never dream of being back?' There was none of the usual brash tone in Spike's voice.

Angel met his eyes fleetingly. 'Sometimes.'

'But it's her,' Spike concluded with assurance.

The gleam from the pale lamps danced across the curving surface of the glass in strange formations of light and shadow. 'I lose control,' Angel said quietly, 'or I'm not there...when she needs me. I hurt her.'

'I dream of her, too, but I never see her, just feel her close by. I can feel she is hurting, but I can't find her.' Spike leant forward in his chair, placing his elbows upon his knees. 'Then there's the one,' he said, 'where I'm running and it's dark all around, like a tunnel or something. There's light at the end of it but no matter how hard I run, it doesn't get any closer. And suddenly it disappears, and the light seems to come from behind, but when I stop, I find I'm burning and falling...falling...' Spike's eyes grew distant.

'Yeah, I burn too,' Angel said. He gave a mirthless chuckle. 'Not very confident in ourselves, are we?'

Spike downed the rest of his beer. 'I don't think they'll ever go away.'

Angel watched the ever-thinning formations of humans at the bar. 'No,' he answered quietly, 'I don't think they will, either.'

'Bloody demon. He gets in your head and he clings onto your brain forever.'

'I thought maybe they would go away when we sent him to Hell.' Angel gave the glass a subtle push that made it glide a couple of inches along the table's surface. 'That he would lose his hold...'

'Nah,' Spike said. 'He is no further from us where he is now. Between heaven and hell. Sod it; we're between heaven and hell right now, always have been, always will. Bleedin' thing will never be truly gone.'

'No,' Angel acknowledged. 'He probably won't.'

For a while they sat without either speaking, before Spike realised that his bottle was empty. He got to his feet.

'You fancy a Bad Guy safari?'

Angel did not ponder this for more than a second or two. 'Why not?'

'Have noticed you're not much into the suit lately,' Spike said, as they stepped into the virtually abandoned street.

'So have I,' Angel said wryly.

'Feeling rebellious?'

They turned down a gloomy alley littered with overturned rubbish bins. Angel cocked his head. 'A little bit.'

'Or was it my dress sense that rubbed off on you?'

Angel pulled a face. 'Gee, I hope not!'

Spike laughed. 'Can't see why that would get your knickers in a knot, with your record and all.' He changed subject. 'So, petite blonde is paying a visit.'

Angel smiled at the thought. 'Yes. She will drop by next weekend.'

'Of course,' the younger vampire smirked sarcastically. 'Because she just so happened to be in the neighbourhood.'

'Does it bother you, Willy?'

Spike grumbled. 'Shut your gob.'

Angel laughed. 'Issues?'

'At least it's better than 'Angel'...and you even chose that one yourself. _And _it's a girl's name by the way.'

''Spike' is not even a name.'

'I'm a sucker for originality.'

'So I've heard.'

THE END

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**Author's thanks: **

First and foremost to all my wonderful reviewers. You have all been absolutely wonderful! I started off writing this for myself, believing nobody else would bother reading, but you did and you told me so. Thanks so much for your support and your comments and criticisms, all of which made this a better story than it would have been had you not been there.

Thanks to **Tariq, nimwen, DDuck, shahid, AngelicDreams **and** legolasgal** who have been with me since the first chapters of part one. You made all the difference for me!

Massive Thanks to **Wesfan1234, a2zmom,** **Gwenyer, AlwaysHoldingOn, Ares, Edgechick816, spangelover, CF, UberWicca, stephanierb, Lynn, Omar Mahmood, Leni, Violet SS, liliaeth, kargrif, David Morris **and **urangel.**

You have all been brilliant and I really, really appreciate your support throughout this project!

Also thanks to my sister. You have been great with helping me out of the blind alleys I wrote myself into a couple of times!

I really hope to see you all again, and have got some support (thanks sooo much a2zmom, kargrif, Omar Mahmood, UberWicca, stephanierb, nimwen, Tariq and Gwenyer :-) for turning this into a trilogy. Would the rest of you still be interested? If so, what would you like me to improve on from this? More Wes, Gunn and Fred action would be a given :-)

Let me know :-)

Thanks so much!

Love,

Khim


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